#don’t touch the thing UNLESS you are committing to a bit which is always

[afearsomeartisan]

Did you know mimics can be pretty much ANYTHING

[hitlikehammers]

safe under you

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar husbands, writing vows, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day nineteen: Love is the comfort of quiet moments  (@tboygareth)

the rockstar husbands are back on their soft-sleepy-romantic bullshit idk ♥️ maybe I'll get around to writing the ACTUAL VOWS next time

“You’re so quiet.”

Which meant Eddie should have heard his husband approaching but: as it stands he really, really didn’t, and he jumps hard when Steve whispers from behind his shoulder over the back of the couch.

Steve laughs at the glare Eddie shoots him—a half-hearted one at best but there—as he reaches to start rubbing at the crook of his neck, up and down on either side and the glaring goes away instantly because: Steve Harrington?

Has magical hands.

“Whatcha doing?” he murmurs close to Eddie’s ear and Eddie hums a little as he gathers himself from going immediately-boneless under Steve’s touch, the kneading of his palm against Eddie’s strained muscles because he’s been down here…not too long, he doesn’t think. They’d gone to bed together at normal time, and he’d fallen asleep, too; he’d just been restless when he woke up, and knew it was the kind of thing he wouldn’t get more rest out of unless he did something about it, so he’d kissed Steve’s head and rolled out of bed, regretful for it but hopeful, too, that if he gave in to the nagging at the back of his head, he’d quiet it enough to be able to slip back in next to his beloved, and lean against the mattress just so, so that Steve’s arms could curl around him as they always did: soft and sweet and waiting to hold him.

Eddie just hasn’t…managed to get there, yet.

“Writing,” Eddie sighs, and then whines a little as Steve’s hands leave their place on his shoulders, and he turns to look because where’s Steve going, Steve shouldn’t go anywhere, Steve should stay right—

Here.

And look at that: Steve’s plopping himself down on the sofa next to Eddie, a little too far but then he’s scooting further, and Eddie opens his mouth to protest but then Steve’s dropping down, draping his body over Eddie’s lap and laying against him, looking up at him with still-half-sleepy eyes and just…

He’s just so fucking beautiful, y’know?

“You’re never quiet when you’re writing,” Steve says, head tilted up, eyes closed as he leans back against the armrest where Eddie’s got his notebook, his face so soft. His mouth so soft—

“Campaign, you mumble to yourself,” Steve continues on, his voice syrupy, still only half-committed to waking; “lyrics, you hum if you don’t have a guitar,” and then he reaches down toward Eddie’s knee and taps rhythmic there:

“And you drum your fingers,” and Steve smiles as his fingers dance for a few languid moments before he eases his lashes open and meets Eddie’s gaze, because Eddie’s gaze has been on his since he settled in his lap.

Because: duh.

“Looks like it’s hard, too,” Steve sucks his lower lip between his teeth, face still soft but mouth quirked just a little downward, still a little dream-soaked and Eddie love that part, but: never the downturn of that mouth.

“Hmm?” Eddie rumbles low so Steve’ll maybe feel it a little where he’s pressed; the little hazy giggle Steve lets out as he nuzzles into Eddie’s middle just that tiny bit: he felt.

Eddie likes to think he’s never been so in love, but he doesn’t…he doesn’t believe he’s ever not loved Steve with all of his everything.

He’s just wholly convinced that his everything grows with ever moment beside this man, every heartbeat lived together: it stretches him wider, broader every day for the singular purpose of holding the all of his love ever-bigger.

“Whatever you’re working on,” Steve murmurs, just short of sleep-slurred; “you’ve got this,” and he reaches, bats a little around Eddie’s face before he lands between his eyebrows and smooths the skin there which, okay, fine, had been all wrinkled-up.

“Means you’re concentrating too hard,” Steve comments sagely, patting Eddie’s cheek a little blind as he settles wholly back in Eddie’s lap.

“This happens to be very important,” Eddie counters with a tiny flick to Steve’s ear, which is met with a little squeak that warms his insides so delicate, so thorough and full.

“Doubtful,” Steve manages to scoff, like he’s tipping closer to wakefulness but not there yet; “not important enough to make you,” and Steve’s the one flicking now, light at Eddie’s forearm in emphasis:

“Quiet and frowny.”

He’s so…he’s fucking edible he’s so adorable, that’s what he is—Jesus.

“Not frowny,” Eddie lets a little at Steve’s hair, all tousled from the bed; “invested.”

Steve purses his lips and tries—fails, but tries—to peek at the notebook on level with his temple.

“What’s got you so invested, then?” he finally gives up trying to turn and read where Eddie’s hasn’t even bothered trying to hide, not least because there is nothing there, and just asks. And Eddie could dodge it. Steve would respect it if he did.

But he…he doesn’t. Generally speaking he doesn’t hide anything from Steve. Big or small. Their life is a shared thing from top to bottom and Eddie loves that about them so fucking fierce, so. He just sighs and admit it.

“My vows.”

Because that’s what’s been keeping him up, that’s what drove him out of the soft joy of their bed, that’s what amounted to scribbles and cross-outs alone on the page in front of him and it should be this hard, Eddie’s a decent enough lyricist, not to mention most of his songs all this time are for, or inspired by, or just about, generally, all-encompassingly: Steve. It’s always Steve.

Which makes it that much more unbearable that he can’t seem to fucking write his goddamn vows.

Then, though, just then; the most unexpected thing happens. Or starts.

Steve starts shaking against him and there a half-second he’s worried—does it hurt his sweetheart, that he can’t get the words down, does it make him sad, is he cryi—

No.

No: it only takes half-a-second for the anxiety to fade and the sound to register alongside the trembling: Beautiful. Radiant. Still wholly unexpected.

Steve’s laughing.

“That’s silly,” Steve finally tells him, looking up at him with genuine north in his eyes and yes, he’s still a little sleepy-drunk, but the feeling is wholly present and…

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with it—wants to just wrap himself inside it and savor but: his vows…laughable?

Silly?

“What?”

“You’ve already made your vows,” Steve grins up at him, all brightness; “like, three times,” and, okay.

Okay, that’s not exactly wrong, though he could probably try to argue that it was more three proposals’ worth of vows, and are those actually vows, if it’s just a proposal—

“Proposals fucking count,” Steve waves his wrist definitively and…Eddie isn’t sure if he said any of that out loud?

Then: probably wouldn’t make a difference either way. They know each other.

“The first one was legitimately with the twisty-tie from a loaf of Home Pride,” Eddie points out because: because that…that’s probably not as important—

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums, and lifts his left hand: there’s a simple ring on his left hand, pricey for their budget when they’d gathered their family and committed to always in front of them under a temperate Indiana summer’s sky, bonfire and barbecue lively in the background: but that ring wasn’t smooth; it had a long-worn-bare stick of metal wrapped around it and soldered, one that used to be covered in bright paper to stick out against a plastic bread bag:

“I remember well,” and Steve sounds so soft, so blissfully taken in by the memory of that first time Eddie had proposed and, fuck.

Fuck, the butterflies never go away, do they? That effervescent joy stays fresh and vivacious forever.

Thank fuck; he wants no less of this; for them. The love they have deserves no less.

“Still want to melt down the Ring Pop,” Steve says as he plays with his ring; “make it match,” and that’d been the second time: Steve had bought Eddie a ring at a ren faire, and Eddie’d been beside himself to reciprocate, immediately, because Steve deserved no less, and that was how the bum-end of a long-licked Ring Pop came to live eternally on Steve’s keys.

To be eyed for melting into a full-hoop shape for years, now, but Eddie kinda thinks it’s loved and treasured plenty, just as it already is.

“I love you so fucking much,” Steve tells him, apropos of nothing, and that’s…that’s kind of exactly how they work, yeah. They just love.

So fucking much.

Eddie’s pulse kinda skips with it, bounces like pigtails hopscotching along, all unbridled glee. He draws Steve hand to his lips, kisses his knuckles.

“Aren’t you,” Eddie swallows as he lifts his blank notebook and shakes it around a little: “aren’t you stressing over them?”

Because it doesn’t sound like he is, and that’s…sure, they’ve done this before, if not with a license in hand like they will this time. But Steve’s always been more prone to worry over stuff like this. So while Eddie doesn’t want the man he loves to be anxious, he is…kinda wondering, is all.

“Not writing any,” Steve shrugs and lets the motion turn him a little against Eddie’s lap, to look up more straight-on.

“You know I’m not great with words,” Steve tells him simply; “like, planning them out, I’ll fuck it up in the moment and then I’ll just be more flustered.”

And, yeah: okay. That’s a fair point.

Then there’s a hand slipping up his jaw, and crawling his cheek, and turning him down to look at Steve closer:

“Figured I can just look at you, and I’ll,” Steve’s pupils get bigger as he exhales, as he takes in Eddie’s face and beams at him, strokes his cheekbone with his thumb.

“The most important things are always right there,” Steve breathes warm: “so I’ll just say what’s already waiting.”

And shit. The man says he’s bad at words.

“You’re the light of life, Steve Harrington,” Eddie whispers, contorting himself to lean and Steve sees, arches up to press their lips as Eddie mouths against him: “the song in my soul,” and fuck: he means it so many times over he could never count it, could never pin a number to it. It’s too vast.

“See, look at you,” Steve taps his cheek playfully, but so soaked up with love; “you’ve already got all your words, so,” and then he lets his hand slide off Eddie’ face, and he sits up just to grab at Eddie’s legs, swing them up onto the couch and settles himself between them, tugging Eddie from the calves further down until he’s propping himself up by his palms.

“C’mon,” Steve coaxes, and uses his back to ease Eddie down and: oh. Oh, he wants them laid out on the cushions.

And well: Eddie could, would, will only ever oblige, if the question is do you want to lay down with your husband thrice-almost-four-times-over?

Because again: duh. If they were really in the market for silly ideas.

Steve sighs so happily, so airy and bright even as Eddie reaches to flick the light off, and wraps his arms to rest around Steve, sure and close where he holds him to his chest, folds him in where he already nuzzles deeper and:

It’s how safe my heart feels under the weight of your head.

Well, fuck him.

Maybe he does know his vows already.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[matt-imagines-popcorn]

HEEEY I just, uh, you know maybe you could write something with Noise from Pizza Towe? I'm absolutely in love with this jerk, especially without the costume ☠️☠️maybe headcanons on what it's like to be in a relationship with him?

Oh but of course! I always have time to write for our silly little freak (affectionate)

Being in a relationship with The Noise [Gender-Neutral! Reader]

Noise has plenty of experience with one-off flings left and right and short-term relationships that only survive to the three-month mark. He’s practically a natural at it! However long-term relationships with someone he really-really-really-really likes are quite some uncharted territory for him. Of course, your boy Theodore won't just admit that so you just have to see the evidence for yourself.  At first, he’s definitely more of an annoying roommate than an actual boyfriend.  Doesn’t clean up after himself, is loud when you try to sleep/work, and worst of all steals your food without even asking. But he’s willing to do better if he really cares about you, you just might have to push/remind him a little to get on with his chores, and he’ll get to it then (Perhaps not without a bit of back talking). 

His love language is definitely a physical touch. It's damn near impossible for him to get his hands off of his partner. Even while you two sleep, he still finds a way to worm himself next to you, arms wrapped tightly around you. However, despite this, he rejects any form of affection that is considered soft while out in public. He’s got a reputation to keep up with babe! He can’t throw all of that out the window!

But don’t be fooled! He can be a softy at times but much like a feral cat, it takes some work (and some hissing).  It’s a rare sight to see him in a calm state unless you know the totally-super-secret-didn’t-made-it-up-on-the-spot Noise-Chill-Out™ technique. It’s quite a simple technique really, it's quite a surprise no one has figured it out but petting his hair of all things gets him very sleepy. In which a sleepy Noise is a cuddly Noise, never forget it.  (And he purrs too! Score!)

Noise is a show-off - so naturally that rubs off onto his partner as well. He loves showing you off and brags about your skills for you, exaggerating them only a tiny bit. (“Yeah, my partner just painted the Sistine Chapels, no big deal.” “Theo please-”). He always has a hand somewhere on you to as he doe so as well, just his sly way of saying that you're his. And forbid it if anyone talks smack towards you - they’ll receive a beating so hard it’ll make them come running back home to ma!

[Deviating a bit but just so you know, if you're trying out a new outfit - any outfit, a dress/suit, hell even something casual that shows a bit of skin, Noise is pulling out the whole heart-eyes, tongue rolling shebang!]

Still, despite his flaunting of you, he still gets horribly jealous. And by god is he horrible at hiding it too.  You could be talking to anyone - a old friend, coworker, hell some stranger - and suddenly here comes your man, walking up behind you and pulling you in close by your waist - and oh man, if he’s really jealous - will give you the smooch–st kiss imaginable before loudly announcing you as his partner. Worst part: He won’t ever admit he was jealous in the first place. What an guy can’t just kiss his partner? Man is he the worst at times. 

Goes over the top with dates (Fireworks, canons, vandalism - the whole deal!), and it's not a good date in his book if at least one person is not in critical condition (Your positive he has more counts of vehicular manslaughter from your dates then whatever illegal shit he committed in the Tower) … yeah might be best if you plan dates instead (and for the all the innocent pedestrians walk to your designated date.).

[aromantic-misguide-to-romance]

Ace Dates with Asmodeus!

Ancient requests by @kingsheir unearthed again. I hope you don't mind the tag after years. GN reader-insert, word count: 843

.

Let’s be honest – he’s probably the first one to know that you’re ace, whether he noticed the lack of attraction on his own or you just decided to set things straight early. So the decision to pursue a relationship was a well-thought commitment. Was it a difficult decision? Well, depends on your own approach. His approach however was very simple – he was signing up for what he knew the relationship would be, and that was it. He already had thought it through and had a lot of time to make up his mind, so for him the decision wasn’t particularly difficult. It was just a conclusion to a long thought process.

It might seem weird, but for how much attention he gives to himself, it is much less surprising that he got his feelings and motives figured out. After all, for a long time his favourite person in the world was basically him and he was more than excited to experience all the new sides he just discovered in himself thanks to you. So he eventually got a good grasp on his feelings, even if the progress was… somewhat slow.

But once he got there,  he had everything sorted out in his mind.

It doesn’t mean it isn’t new for him or that he’s impossibly positive, but he just doesn’t focus on the uncertainties. He has so many ideas where you two could go and what you could do – he knows the best places for a self-care day and he’s going to show you and let you experience every single one of them. He knows the best shops around, with the best wares. Go out with you and not pamper you? Not spoil you rotten? That’d be a crime, a serious crime!

He’s a bit lost though – let’s be frank, Asmo has been more for casual dating before, so he doesn’t exactly know what he’s supposed to do. He just wings it. Which might often just lead to a date that doesn’t exactly look much different than the earlier outings before you two got together, at least at first. And if you don’t count the fact that he’s now much more into PDA – if you’re the type to like public displays of affection as well, it’s definitely gotten much more romantic, to the point of annoying everyone around, but that’s their problem anyway. He definitely seeks more physical contact, more affection, more hugs and little touches, but the contents of the date haven’t changed that much.

But if you pay attention to what changed in the usual trips to town, you might notice that you are getting more matching accessories when shopping together. Not only accessories, but also some parts of wardrobe (though maybe getting matching socks is easy to brush off and probably not the most romantic thing in the world, but a scarf or a hat? That step is definitely noticeable). It also becomes clearer that he starts to make sure that the outfits don’t clash and that they look nice together – like if he’s now thinking of both of you not as of separate individuals but as a part of a bigger picture. He really likes the feeling when he sees that being together suits you and him. He’s likely to start picking up your tastes in attire to implement into his own wardrobe too, even if he wasn’t particularly smitten with your fashion sense before.

Of course, typical dating activities like watching a film in a cinema might pop up more often than before. He’s always been quite a touchy-feely type though, so him clinging to you during a scary or a tearjerking scene isn’t new… unless he spends the whole movie like that. That’s likely to happen.

Once the date is formally over, you’ll be probably going to his room to test out all of the new cosmetics together, and it will be a great chance to watch him let his hair down. It definitely won’t be an instant change – but the closer you two are, the more at ease he will be, and the more he will allow himself to stop being always the most glamorous demon around. He’ll start dropping the perky and energetic persona around you, showing that he needs rest, that he’s tired, that his hair can be messy sometimes too – those “behind the scenes” moments that he never lets anyone see. If he’s quiet, then he definitely ran out of his energy and might simply doze off while cuddling.

If you don’t go back to your room but end up asleep next to him, you’re probably going to witness a morning Asmo with a sleepy smile on his face when he sees you the first thing in the morning. And also his whining, if you attempt to leave the bed when he wants his morning cuddles – it’s so warm and cosy, he doesn’t want to let go yet! So you’ll probably have to stay for a while. But well… at some point you definitely need to make the heartless decision to get up…

[bipabrena]

Because We’re Family (Kenny-Levi-Erwin centred fic) chapter 19.

A fic where SNK is rewritten from the start. Kenny steps up as a parent for Levi. Many years later, Erwin accidentally crosses paths with Kenny, the one ghost of his past, and blackmails him and Levi into joining the Survey Corps. Because of his relationship with the Reiss, Kenny has vital information about humanity, and he makes his own deductions that will change everything for the story. All canon arcs will be rewritten, until the time to fight the outside world comes. Main pair is eventual Eruri (huge enemies to lovers). Read here.

They could hear the soldiers working, even from up here. Without an upcoming expedition to train for, the soldiers had to focus on more menial work. Today, a section of the barracks commuted from the gates to the mess hall. The shipments of food for the next three months had arrived, and it was hefty work to unload everything from the multiple wagons. 

Kenny watched them aloofly from the window. 

They will all die, he thought. It could be in a year, five years, or perhaps not in their lifetime. But their children could be killed, or their children’s children, and so on. Many generations may pass before that day comes, but it was a fact they would die.

This world will crumble, Uri and Frieda had said. And the First King corroborated it.

The Subjects of Ymir. They had to pay for whatever sins the Eldians of the past committed. The outside world will pay whatever violence they ever inflicted ten times in turn.

His sombre eyes did not waver as the voices in the room grew increasingly louder. Despite being right next to them, he couldn’t make out what Erwin and the others were saying. A disagreement, perhaps. Either way, his mind was not in it. He couldn’t focus and, frankly, unless directly addressed, he didn’t care. 

He brought his fist to his lips, eyes still focused on the soldiers that carried dozens upon dozens of crates with flour bags. 

A hand touched his shoulder. It took him one, two, three seconds to react. He looked back to find Flagon, who seemed a bit too grim. There was also a certain gentleness in his eyes. He’d sure mellowed down to him in the last two months, Kenny recognised. “You can move ahead, pack your things and do what you want until midday. We’ll finish up here.”

Kenny briefly glanced at the working soldiers one last time and left the room without a word. The silence with which he left lingered in the air. The remaining men were reluctant to break it.

“I think we’re ready,” Erwin said later as he took a final glance at the documents. 

“Then we’d best move on now,” added Lutz with urgency. “Kit and Soren need us, and we have a regiment to save. Commander, is there anything else?”

“No, that will be all. Make haste. I’ll stay here, as we still need a backup plan,” Shadis said. “I already have a meeting set with a financial and legal advisor. Like Dorian said, we must be prepared for the possibility you won’t get this done in time.”

The soldiers all seemed to agree, but a loud sigh brought their attention to Dorian.

He reluctantly placed his file on the table. “Commander, I’m… sorry, but I can’t do this.”

Their brows rose.

“I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t sign up to deceive a fellow soldier by using his child, regardless of who that soldier used to be. And we don’t even know what he might do to get the information, since the stakes are so high for him. People may get hurt, and I can’t be a part of that. I have a few days off accumulated and I request to use them in the following days.”

Erwin and his friends could only be astonished by this. By the looks of it, so was Shadis.

“Section Commander,” Erwin intervened, “I apologise for my impudence as I do not intend to question your authority, but we could use your help for this. It’s for the greater good of the regiment.”

Flagon and Lutz silently agreed. Having their Section Commander would make them feel a lot safer. He’d always taken care of them, after all.

“I stand by my words and have no further comment to add,” Dorian replied.

Erwin didn’t seem to like this.

“And no further comment is required,” Shadis spoke after a brief silence. “Take your time off, Anja will take your place in the headquarters for now. This is a good time for anyone hesitating to back down from this.”

From the rest, the only one who seemed unsure was Flagon. His brows were furrowed, and his lips tight. He was clearly very tempted to back down.

He slowly moved to place his folder on the table, but gave his friends a final glimpse. He watched Mike, the calculated Erwin, and the frowning Lutz. From them all, it was Lutz with his pitiful eyepatch that affected him the most.

He couldn’t bear to leave his best friend. 

He stopped and held the folder to his chest. Erwin let out a silent breath of relief. 

Dorian waited no further and, visibly disappointed with not only Flagon but also the rest, left the room.

“Very well,” said Shadis. “You may leave now. Get ready, wait for Kenny and go. Keep me updated and, above all, stay safe.”

“Sir,” they saluted.

They individually went to their rooms to pack their belongings. Essentials, their documents and a gun each from the armoury. When they were near the gates to await their carriage, they perked up cautiously when Kenny and Dorian crossed paths from afar.

“Are you not ready to leave yet?” Kenny asked, luggage in hand. “I was told the carriage would arrive at noon. I didn’t take ya to be tardy.”

“I will not be partaking in the mission.”

“... Because?” asked Kenny when silence lingered. He wondered about the frown on Dorian’s face. 

“I…” Dorian’s eyes moved down. “I, uh…”

What he was struggling to say didn’t seem to be easy, Kenny noticed. Like it weighed on him. 

“I… I, I…”

“Well, don’t pop a vein, will ya?” Kenny jested, although his face was perfectly serious. “See ya, then.”

Dorian watched him saunter away, and he surprised himself when he reflexively called Kenny’s name. Kenny turned to look at him, waiting.

Don’t go. We’re lying to you. We’re lying. 

Dorian wanted to say it, he was struggling not to, and Erwin could tell. Should he intervene?

“Be careful,” is what Dorian managed to say. 

Kenny said nothing, his gaze simply lingered on Dorian a few more seconds, and then he left. He did appreciate the concern, however. Dorian had always been kind to him and Levi.

He reached Erwin and the rest, but did not greet them. He remained in silence, eyes in the distance, as he patiently waited for the carriage. The others didn’t dare speak. They couldn’t, and even when it arrived, and they were safely on their way to the river canal, they still didn’t manage a word. 

Kenny seemed too calm, they individually thought. He even seemed to be enjoying himself when he produced a book from his bag and he read away.

They couldn’t tell whether this was good or bad.

When they reached the river canal, they sailed because it was the fastest mode of transportation. They reached their destination in under two hours. They disembarked and hauled a carriage to midtown. Erwin’s throat clenched as he walked out of it. The last time he’d done this, everything had gone wrong. Kit and Soren had arrived hours later, only for them to be taken from him, now held off who knew where.

He wasn’t alone now, though.

He felt at ease when seeing Lutz, Mike and Flagon by his side. The world seemed to get much smaller, however, and the air seemed to feel much tighter, more constricted as Kenny was the last to leave the carriage, pressing his hat with one hand as he walked out. His presence seemed to dwarf everyone else's, even when Mike was by far the largest and tallest of the group.

The initial plan had been to check at an inn with strategic positioning, although one different from the Aquatic Pub. Erwin didn’t want them to stay in the same tavern Ennis had already busted them in. So, they wanted one that was strategic, but Kenny had been quick to shut this down.

“We’re staying at my old place,” is what he stated. His tone made it clear he wasn’t suggesting or negotiating.

“Your cabin?”

“No,” Kenny was quick to respond. “Home is sacred, ya don’t let filth in it.”

Funny, Erwin thought. Levi had been quick to tell him the same thing when he’d asked to be let in his room.

“No, we’re going to my old place. In the Underground.”

They all stiffened immediately. Lutz gulped heavily, clearly more taken aback than the others. He absolutely did not want to return to that place. 

“May I ask why?” spoke Erwin.

“It’s just better,” is all Kenny said. 

He began walking with purpose, and the others were reluctant to follow. When they realised Kenny would move on with or without them, they felt they had no choice. Erwin was the first to move, and by reflex the others followed.

They entered the Underground and reached his old home without issues. Even here, the strongest gang would think twice before taking on five large, strong men who walked with purpose and straight faces. From the would-be robber’s perspective, there was a chance they could all be armed. So, an attack was highly unlikely.

Kenny felt a sense of nostalgia as he turned the lights on. His eyes centred on the whisky table, where he’d usually sit to drink and read, then lingered on the living room where the table would usually be crooked so that Levi would have space to train and practise his moves.

It was all perfectly organised now. As clean as any home that had been left unattended could be, but it wasn’t soulless despite the lack of inhabitants. 

“It’s… a lot nicer than I thought it would be,” admitted Flagon.

The other men ambled around the place, not quite finding themselves.

“We’ll need to do some light shopping, as there’s nothing to cook, and we can’t rely on inns for every meal,” Kenny instructed. “Some of us can head for the markets whilst the rest stay cleaning up. There are still some supplies around here.”

“Good idea,” said Erwin. “Let’s divide the chores so we can get to work.”

Mike and Erwin would shop for supplies. Food, a few pots and pans and some cleaning supplies. Kenny guided Lutz and Flagon to the nearby well so they could haul water for both cleaning and consumption. He then left them to their devices, excusing himself for unmentioned reasons, whilst they all kept themselves busy.

Kenny briefly considered the possibility the soldiers could come across Guinne. They wouldn’t recognise him, as from what he’d been told, Guinne had been masked when he’d attacked them, but Guinne would certainly recognise them. 

He wasn’t sure whether he should pay him and Moritz a visit to give them a heads-up. Frankly, he was a little lost right now.

Something gnawed at him. Clearly, the soldiers weren’t telling him everything. It was simply so weird for Levi to disappear like this. Somehow he recalled the Ackerman persecution. With enough firepower and men, he understood Levi would be forced to submit. The Ackermans were nearly driven to extinction for that reason. They’d been overwhelmed despite their strength. But Kenny had been a special case, he’d adapted beyond what any other Ackerman ever had. Even as a child. He was so sure Levi would be the same, especially with Kenny’s training. 

From what they told him, the innkeeper had told Erwin they’d gone along willingly. What exactly did Ennis, or his men, tell them so they came along? The threat they’d shoot up the place? He understood Kit and Soren would comply, their duties as soldiers would compel them to. But Levi? Surely he could easily sneak away.

With enough threats to innocent life, would Levi submit? Somehow, Kenny was a little afraid to admit he doubted it. 

No matter. Those were questions he’d make once he had Levi safe and sound. Yes, that’s what he should be focusing on. Just find him. How he got caught is meaningless. 

Just find him.

By the time Kenny was back home, the place was clean and smelled of smoke. Mike and Lutz were working on a meal, simple and not great, and as tasty as they could make it in a place like this. A bubbly potato cream soup with hot crusty bread that was much too stale, and a side of greens. No different from what they already ate in the military, Kenny was disappointed to find.

It’s not that getting used to this food was hard. Not quite. He’d gone hungry for over a decade of his life; he knew what it was like to starve. Still, for a shorter but still considerable chunk of his life he had been used to fancy, delicious foods cooked by the best offered within the Walls. And, after moving out of the Reiss Estate, he’d eaten very well in the time he lived in the cabin with Levi. Levi loved to cook, and Kenny enjoyed doing it alongside him at times. It was a great skill he’d picked up thanks to the Reiss chefs once he decided to shape up for Levi. Going back to eating bland food, well… he wasn’t a fan, but he wouldn’t repel it, either. Fuel was fuel.

They sat down to eat with little conversation, and after Erwin and Flagon finished cleaning up, they all got to work.

They spread their documents over the living room table, and they all huddled around it to discuss their plans of action. First, they of course needed to know their enemy. Once they did, they’d have to think like their enemy to anticipate their moves, and plan appropriate responses. 

“The man we’re up against is called Ennis Vernier, the man you encountered that night, Erwin,” said Kenny. “He’s Lovof’s head of security and without a doubt the one in charge of the entire operation.”

Erwin found this curious. Ennis seemed so young the night they met, he wouldn’t have imagined he’d be something as important as head of security for a duke. 

“I’d wager since Erwin slipped from his grasp, he’ll be on the lookout for new faces in the interior. He’ll know the Survey Corps won’t give up so easily, but also won’t be so stupid as to send the same person… although, to be fair, they did. He most likely has sentinels placed all over, hence why Kit, Soren and Levi were captured so quickly. The truth we’ll have to face is that, no matter where we go, we’ll have at least one person following us or listening to us. So, we have two ways of doing this: Either we gather real evidence like you want to bring Lovof down, or we simply play the game and force him to back down before the Faction Leaders and the Commander-in-Chief.”

“And how do we play the game?” asked Erwin.

“We don’t have enough time to play fairly. We go straight for where it hurts Lovof; his kids.”

“Wait, what!?” Lutz cried out. “What do you mean by that?”

“We take his kids, obviously,” said Kenny. “Ennis is certainly working behind the scenes, doing far more than… whatever he’s doing to Levi. And Kit and Soren. If anything, that’s a job for his subordinates. If I had to guess, they’re alright. Ennis would be more focused on gathering additional information on the Survey Corps’s response to this.” 

“You’re not actually asking us to kidnap children, are you?” Flagon’s throat clenched. 

“I'm not asking you to, but I also couldn't give less of a shit how you feel about it. By taking the brats, Ennis will be forced to put whatever he’s doing on hold. His job is to protect everything Lovof owns and loves. Cantaceres means nothing if Lovof’s children are unsafe, and the second they are, it’s Ennis’s job to retrieve them.”

“How many?” asked Erwin.

“He’s got tons of brats, but there’s two who are his favourite,” he raised two fingers. “He’d risk anything for them.”

“We won’t be hurting them, will we?” asked Mike warily. 

“‘Course not,” said Kenny sincerely, although a bit too aloofly for their liking. “Unless he doesn’t comply, of course. Then we rearrange some faces or perhaps mail a few body parts. Relax,” he said when Lutz produced a wail. “It won’t come to that. He loves those brats, it’s probably his only redeeming quality.”

“This is no time for sentimentalities,” Erwin reminded curtly when Lutz and Flagon frowned hesitantly. “If Lovof loves his children, we won’t have to hurt anyone. The faster we can get this done, the better.” He looked back at Kenny. “Where do we find them?”

"I can’t tell you that. I’ll be the one to retrieve them. In the meantime, you’ll scatter across Sina to look nice and pretty. We’ll need bait, so you must dress up in the Survey Corps uniform.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Mike’s brows creased. “The whole point of the operation was to be inconspicuous. We shouldn’t be hanging a large sign on our backs.”

“Wrong. You absolutely should hang a large sign on your backs. Like I said, Ennis will be on the lookout for the Survey Corps’ response to this. The faster we can lure his men to us, the better.”

“And what if Ennis anticipates this?” asked Erwin. “He figured me out in a flash. I’m sure he’d anticipate this.”

“He absolutely will, but he’ll still have no choice but to dig in. It’s true our main mission is to make Lovof back down from Cantaceres, but whilst we do that we also have to get Levi’s and your men’s whereabouts. The faster we do that, the better. I trust I don’t have to explain to you what you must do should you lure and capture some of their men.”

Lutz and Flagon gulped heavily.

“You don’t,” said Erwin. “We’ll get it done. I presume in the meantime you’ll retrieve Lovof’s children. Will you bring them down here?”

“I will. And then Lovof will come looking for them.”

“I have a question,” chimed Lutz. “When we go above ground, what exactly do we look for? Erwin said Kit and Soren asked around in the skid rows and, well, look what happened. I know we’re bait, but what do we do? The same as they did?”

“Like I said, your job is to look pretty. You’re bait, that’s all you are. If you can best their men, that’s fine, but I’d prefer it if you got captured.”

“H-hold on, what!?” Lutz shot up from his seat. “No way in Rose’s name, uh-uh! I’m not getting captured to be tortured by anyone! I’m here to rescue the ones getting tortured! I can’t do that i-i-if–”

Kenny was unimpressed by the outburst. “Flagon, please control your woman.” 

“Lutz is right to be concerned,” Erwin said, “getting captured isn’t an ideal thought for us.” Lutz seemed happy Erwin agreed that this madness was unacceptable. “But do quiet down, Lutz, please.” 

Well, he didn't agree, it seemed. Lutz whined huskily with impatience. “I can’t believe we’re actually considering this!”

Flagon tugged him so that he sat down, which he did.

“Why must we get captured?” Erwin asked. 

“Because I want you to lure their men. When Ennis went after ya, it must’ve been to get information on what you had, not just through interrogation. Tangible evidence. Documents. Things you very much have. He’ll want that.”

“And you want us to lure them here?”

“That’s right. At least one of you. If the rest get captured and sent to their hideout, that’s fine, so long as one of ya manages to get ‘ere.”

“But what if you get here with Lovof’s kids? His men will be here and–”

“Yes, they will. What about it?”

“H-hold on,” Flagon defended himself, “I know it sounds like a stupid question, of course it’ll scare them to see their Duke’s children kidnapped, but I mean what if that doesn’t work somehow, and they shoot without asking questions?”

“No need to concern yourself with that. Just do as you're told.”

“You’re asking us to get kidnapped here, man, come on! At least tell us your whole plan!” Lutz’s hand shot up.

“No.”

“Huh!? What do you mean no!?”

“I mean no. Goddamn, you’re annoying. Just get captured, it ain’t as bad as ya think.”

Lutz wailed in complaint. 

“If we manage to subdue his men first, do we take them here?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

Erwin was wary of Kenny’s secrecy. 

“What should we expect?” asked Mike. “If we capture them first or if they capture us. Besides the mission to catch you, we’ve never done any operations against humans. Now this with the Ennis guy, it’s–”

“And how did you catch me, exactly?” Kenny asked curiously. “The whole secret thing. Who told you that?”

Mike suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

“That’s not what we’re here to discuss,” Erwin came to his aid. “Mike’s question is a good one, however. What do you reckon we prepare for?” 

“For someone to approach you or try to kidnap you. Dying is something you won’t have to worry about yet, I’d wager.”

“We don’t?” Flagon raised his voice, sounding relieved.

“No, he won’t kill ya. He’s too smart for that.”

“So, while you retrieve Lovof’s children, we should just… go around the interior luring them to us?”

Kenny was growing irritated. “Yes, how many times do I have to say it?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Flagon waved his hands. “I’m just nervous.”

“You won’t die and you probably won’t get tortured, not too badly.”

“Not too badly…” Lutz mumbled. “God, I hate this so bad, I want to go home. I don’t like this place,” he touched his eyepatch. “I hate this place. Why can’t they just leave us alone? Fuck, I hate… oh, fuck…”

He placed a hand on his chest as his breathing began to accelerate. Recognising what this meant, Flagon immediately placed himself across him. 

“I know,” Flagon cooed. “Breathe slowly. Count out loud.”

Lutz complied. He slowed his breaths and counted each one. He began trembling.

“Five,” said Flagon, and to this Lutz said, “Friends.”

“Four,” said Flagon, and to this Lutz said, “Warmth.”

“Three,” said Flagon, and to this Lutz said, “Crackling fire.”

On they went. When they repeated this, Lutz’s answers became a lot more descriptive.

Kenny’s brows creased with curiosity. “What’re they doing?” 

“Lutz suffers from panic attacks,” Mike said softly. “Has for a while now. It was never easy to calm him at first, but we found a little method.”

“The 5-4-3-2-1 method,” Erwin chimed in. “It’s a grounding exercise. When we notice the first signs he’s going to have one, one of us tries to ground him in the present moment, so he can focus. It involves all five senses. Sight, touch, hearing, smell and taste. With deep breaths, he must decreasingly describe something he’s asked. So, five things he can see, four that he can feel, three that he hears and so forth. If he can’t focus and see, feel, hear, smell or taste anything, he can just describe his favourite things for each sense.”

Kenny’s brows rose. “Does it always work?” he asked as he watched Flagon stand before Lutz, guiding him without crowding him.

“If we catch him like this when it’s about to start, it does, yes. When it has already started, it’s trickier, but helping him with his breathing normally suffices. The important thing is to give him space and not overwhelm him, hence why only one of us should step in.”

Kenny’s eyes narrowed slightly. That day… he thought.

The deafening shots. The screaming. The feeling of warm blood pooling underneath his bare feet as waning, dying eyes stared at him. 

He’d had to run as fast as his feet could carry him, along with the girl who barely held his hand, as though she’d lost life of her own. All whilst hearing the derisive laughter in the distance, mocking them, expressing they’d get them, too. The voice that had joyfully shouted to release the hounds. 

The sound of the barks, the vicious barks. They’d run for so long their feet had bled.

How many times had Kenny had to ground Kuchel? When he wanted to break down, too, but couldn’t because he just had to be strong for them both?

He’d never broken in his life. Maybe that’s why he hurt all the time.

No. Don’t think about that, not right now.

He silently moved away to give them space. He didn’t want to pretend to read the documents or any of that shit, so he simply poured himself some scotch to drink. He sat at the counter to wait. 

Truthfully, he was a little taken aback by Erwin’s expression. It was soft and gentle. Not to mention the juggernaut Mike, who was usually so stoic. Then, shortly after, it seemed Lutz came back to them. He opened his eye. He glanced around in recognition of his surroundings. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, to which Flagon nodded. He seemed very embarrassed and awkward when his reluctant gaze met Kenny’s. He held the back of his neck. “Err… I’m sorry. I know that was unpro–”

“No words are necessary. If you’re feeling better, we can get started.”

Lutz nodded.

“Shall we meet down here to discuss the day’s proceedings in case we find nothing?” asked Erwin. 

Kenny gathered his things. “Sure, sure. One of ya can stay behind to look after the place if ya want. Four days is what we’ve got. That’s plenty o’ time.”

Without further words, he left the house.

Erwin squinted at the door. It was then Mike sighed. “What is it?” he asked. “I know that look.”

“He’s being so secretive. I wonder what he’s hiding.”

“That’s rich,” Mike said sarcastically.

Erwin was surprised by how much his comment had bothered Mike. They shared a strained look while Lutz chugged some water.

“I don’t want to get captured,” Flagon spoke up, mostly to break the tense silence.

“Me neither. God, what if they take my other eye!? You guys always joke about that and now it may actually happen! God, this sucks !”

Flagon rubbed Lutz’s back with an amused smile. 

“I’m not sure whether we should–”

“Let’s just go along with what the man is asking,” Mike interrupted Erwin. “It’s the least we can do.”

Erwin didn’t seem to like this. More than anything, he was wondering why he’d irritated Mike so much. “There’s not much else we can do, realistically. I suppose we must lure Ennis’s men to us and see what plays out.”

“Should someone stay behind?” Mike asked, heeding Kenny’s words. 

“If we’re going to lure them to us, we might as well stay together. This place is safe on its own.” 

“Do you really think we can do this before the four days are up?” Lutz asked Erwin.

“I do now.”

Read the rest of the chapter at here.

[mercuryonparklane]

Some quick thoughts on SNTV:

“I Can See You” is Tayliz

“Electric Touch” is either Tayliz v Taymily (requited v unrequited) or Swiftgron v Tayliz (more likely the first option considering the clear references to “Breathe”)

“When Emma Falls In Love”, “Foolish One”, and “Enchanted” could be about her unrequited crush on Emma S.

I’m very happy that she brought Liz (and Caitlin) back for this one, but I expected she would since she had already brought her back for Red TV. I still wish we could get an actual feature, though (“Better Man” was so close), their voices sound amazing together (maybe even more so now than they did when Liz was in the band).

I do not believe in late stage anything, including Tayliz. I think the rerecording process (which probably began to some extent before the pandemic in 2020) had her reflecting a lot on the past and previous relationships/situationships. That’s why there seems to be a lot of reminiscing about and references to older songs and past relationships on folklore, evermore, and Midnights.

I haven’t felt like posting as much about Tayliz, hence why this blog has become essentially inactive, because I noticed Liz seemed like the type who would manage to stumble across the theories (not this blog in particular, just all the Twitter and TikTok stuff) and I didn’t feel like adding much more to that discussion. And, in fact, I deleted and archived some of my previous posts for that reason.

I have seen tweets the last couple days about Liz watching Tayliz stuff, so I’m not super comfortable with that (that’s just a personal thing, not an admonishing or strong judgment on anyone who feels comfortable doing so). I’ll stick to my once in a blue moon tumblr posts, where I actively avoid using last names haha.

I do think they may have had something in the past and that Taylor has possibly written songs about her and vice versa, but neither one of them have made a clear statement on their sexuality and Liz seems to be currently dating one of her longtime close friends.

I think Taylor and Liz, for whatever reason, had a little bit of a falling out around fall 2012, but are on good terms now and likely have been for many years. Liz is one Taylor’s oldest friends at this point and she (and Caitlin) was there to see first hand the transition from playing small shows in bars to selling out arenas. She’s one of her few “industry” friends who knew her and admired/supported her before she blew up, so I do hope they are at least friends at this point.

I still think Tayliz is way more likely Taylor/Martin or any of the alleged public boyfriends, slightly less likely than Taylianne, and moderately less likely than Swiftgron and Kaylor.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m like 90% convinced that they had a situationship, and at the bare minimum had a very strong romantic friendship, it’s just that I am always skeptical about everything, so unless one of them confirms it, I can’t be fully on board. At this moment, I do believe they had a situationship and that both have written multiple songs about the other and have referenced each other in music videos. I am not convinced that they ever had any kind of defined, serious, committed relationship. I definitely find Tayliz far more convincing than any of the men we are meant to believe Taylor has been attracted to.

[skrittkicking]

Can I have a uhhh 1 and 13 for Tinkk, 7 and 9 for Iovitus, and 8 and 14 for Ruckus. All with a side of 15 if you'd like!

Tinkk

What parts of their childhood trigger them?

most definitely their fathers death – tinkk was very close with their father and he died when they were around 10 years old or so. the specifics surrounding his death still need to be hashed out but he was a shady peacekeeper with ties to the inquest. they never knew of this side of him, of course, and still idolize him as a great family man to this day. aside from this, tinkk was also sort of ostracized as a progeny & during their time at college (they went to synergetics). they have very poor social skills, not quite understanding humor or picking up social cues. they weren’t bullied, per se, but more so just left out and kind of disincluded from things. tinkks interests were/are also very niche, and they didn’t seek out the more common (for lack of a better term) studies, like golemancy or … mathematics, or whatever. they never have had the desire to seek out new things.

What is their relationship with their family like?

its a mixed bag! they got along swimmingly with their father as a progeny, but, well, he kicked the bucket. the only other family they actively are in contact with are their older brother, egg, and their mother. they live with egg, but don’t get to see him very often due to his occupation as a courier; he’s usually traveling. when they do get to spend time with him though, they have a grand ol time! since SAB is (was? idk when it ended i havent touched it in a bit) going on, theyve been playing that with him because tinkk is a bonafide gamer at heart. as for their mother, well, its complicated. tinkk loves her dearly, of course, she’s their mother – but she’s an alcoholic, and has been since their father died. she has shown no signs of improvement and constantly berates and nitpicks tinkk’s living situation and how they’re wasting their college education. tinkk buys into it, feeling like they have to continue to talk to her because she’s the only parent they have left. they try not to take a lot of the stuff she says to heart, but can’t help it. 

Iovitus

What emotions or situations do they try to avoid? Why?

this question has already kinda? sorta? been answered in my last ask (which you can check out here), but ill expand a bit more. iovitus has always been more open with their emotions than the average war-riddled charr, so they don’t usually try to avoid it – with the exception of grief. iovitus hasn’t really allowed themselves to grieve the death of their warband & girlfriend, and instead tries to just not think about it when possible. it’s not really working out for them; they have constant nightmares about them & how they died, and never talk about it unless they’re havin’ a really rough time. they also tend to repress their anger and frustration towards people, especially those they care for. as for situations, iovitus generally tries to avoid most conflict when possible. they want people to like them, depending on others for validation at times, so they try their best to be malleable and flexible – even if it means they’re hurting themselves by doing so.

What are their insecurities?

mmm. id say their biggest insecurity is just their past, more specifically the event that lead to their exile from the legions. they feel a lot of shame towards their history in general, but especially that part. that being said, though, i think if given the opportunity, they would not go back and change it. its simply a part of them, and though they really miss their warband, they were already dead by the time iovitus committed their crime. being a gladium has opened up a lot of opportunities for iovitus, even though it has also caused them more pain than anything else. next to their past, they are also pretty insecure about their overall size and stature. iovitus is… teeny tiny! very little in comparison to other charr. they’re built like a beanstalk, too, and struggle to put on & keep any weight/muscle. iovitus got very sick when they were a young cub, and it stunted their growth as well as threw off their development/hormone rates, meaning they never quite grew properly. they used to be more muscular and in-shape than they are now when they were still doing legion work. thankfully, since they don’t really surround themselves with other charr, it’s usually never commented on.

Ruckus

What angers them?

ruckus honestly doesn’t anger very quickly in most situations. she likes to talk and interact with other people, and takes most things as a joke. that being said, though, she takes her work very seriously (she likes getting paid, y’hear) and will get pissy if you get in her way or mess things up. even if you pick on the people she likes, she’s more likely to laugh along  with you than come to their defense. or, occasionally, she’ll also engage in a bit of social bullying, all under the guise of it being good fun. when she’s angry, she’s like a whole other person – normally, ruckus is quite approachable and sociable, to the point where most would call her a friend. when angered, though, she’s cold, bitter, and brutal. if you really tick her off, ruckus has a tendency to be disgustingly petty, and will go out of her way to inconvenience you – or, worse, hurt you. ruckus is a big lady, and she’s not afraid to throw her weight around, both literally and figuratively. as a legionnaire and a pirate, she’s got plenty of people under her command, and is not afraid to call them into play if need be. 

What kind of people do they tend to gravitate towards?

other trans people. hahaha im just joking. or am i? yeah i am. (not really almost her entire pirate crew are trans folks) i wouldn't say ruckus gravitates towards a certain type of person – as stated before, she’s very friendly and outgoing for the most part, approaching strangers and navigating conversation as if she’d known them for 20 years. that being said, though, she does enjoy being around young, sort of pathetic people. something about their nature is very entertaining to her, and she enjoys playfully pushing their buttons. if she really likes you, ruckus may even offer a word of comfort or two, but that’s only reserved for a certain few. 

WHEW sorry for not answering 15 for each of them -- the post was already getting long and i didnt want to drag on too much :')))) a lot of smaller stuff like likes/dislikes aren't super easy for me to come up with, anyways ....

[keefwho]

January 25 - 2023

1:38 PM

I think I might end up in a similar position as I was when I really came to terms with my anxiety. When I accepted the problem, I found it much harder or maybe impossible to cover up and ignore it like I had in the past. I think thats what made every single day feel like a brutal fight. There was no more escape so the only thing I could do was conquer it. I feel the same way about my self worth right now. Only time will tell if it will actually be like this but I predict it will be. Its okay if it is, I shouldn’t be hiding from my problems. This is still an obscure issue to me so there will be a lot of exploring to do.

I think I’ve become too addicted to doing lewd stuff with others. It’s basically all I want to do anymore, I don’t like doing it alone. The problem is rarely getting the opportunity to. Its not THAT big a deal, just kind of a  bummer. I figure I should stop saving myself almost daily just in case something happens later in the day because I’m making myself too pent up. Thats the only real problem here. 

I also don’t know when it’s appropriate to ask sometimes. I dont wanna be the guy that’s always asking to fuck at the wrong times. I know how it is to have someone try to be giga horny on you when you don’t want it. I’ve been a sexual object before, and not in a good way. My biggest fear in this area is making someone else feel like that. 

4:14 PM

I feel subtle dread. I feel this very often. Its like I have no existence past a couple weeks. Maybe because I have no goals or no clear direction. I think my life overall might be like my drawing pattern. I usually explore new things, commit that new knowledge to everything I’m doing, and I stop exploring for awhile. But what happens is since I’m not taking in new information, I slowly regress in ability. Eventually it gets bad enough that I am forced to experiment again and the cycle starts over. I think my life in general is in the state of regressing and has been for awhile. I’m meant to remember to try new things and introduce new possibilities. I can’t ever start thinking “this is enough” because I’ll stagnate. I need to remind myself that I can always improve. 

I think my first step will be getting my calendar in order. I want to update it with different activities I can do so I don’t have to wonder if I should be doing them now or not. When this month is over I’ll be done with the 30 day Yoga and I’ll schedule a new workout routine. I feel I should also dedicate time to my book again and touch up on the kinds of exercises that could help me through this new problem. 

Its horribly delicate trying to balance mandatory scheduled time and more loose and free time. I think ideally I’d do what I think I needed to de when I felt like it which can be often enough. But in the effort of conserving energy for when I need it, I hold myself back from doing anything unless it’s pre-meditated. But pre-meditated plans don’t always line up with how I feel about it. 

9:08 PM

I think what will start making me feel better about myself is if I simply stop the avoidance. I’ll have to get used to myself eventually. I should catch when I’m trying to ignore my own presence and open up to it. Accept myself like I accepted my feelings. It feels cringe but its a good thing. 

I might try blowing myself on chaturbate again. I really want to be a hoe sometimes and have someone tell me what to do a little bit.

11:38 PM

I’m still not over what’s happened between me and my friend. We used to be inseparable. In my memory it was a good thing but I also remember how much I was allowing myself to be used. I was sacrificing so much and he didn’t realize. I’m still not sure he does. He admitted he saw me primarily as a sexual object but didn’t intend to feel that way and felt bad about it. He also still doesn’t understand how to respect what I’ve been going through. It’s almost like he’s trying to be a parent in an unhelpful way. 

I guess I’m still upset because there was no real conclusion. Things just slowly fell off until now where I can still tell he’s upset about it. I don’t know what good talking would do though. I don’t want things to go back to how they used to be or even close. The truth is that we didn’t have much in common to begin with. We bonded over sex and a few similar friends. Over time I got less horny and fell out with those shared friends so then what did we have? Nothing but a sort of commitment to each other for the sake of staying friends. But we never liked to do any of the same things. And I was always the one that would make the sacrifice by doing things he wanted to do that I hated. And it’s like he never cared that I was obviously miserable or thought I was sad for other reasons. Over time our bond wore down.

I keep remembering all the good times and feelings but I cannot forget all the bad ones. To me they soil the entire experience. I remember specifically trying to avoid him so often without seeming like I was. Or I’d be happy when he had to go away for a weekend. I felt terrible for feeling this way because he was supposed to be my friend. I didn’t realize what we had going on could only be described as toxic. I sort of blame myself for not caring for myself enough like I started doing last year. Putting myself first has been a big factor in our declining friendship. I feel he takes it personally when I decline things we used to do but I’m just trying to take care of myself. 

I don’t know how to let go of all this. In some ways I miss it because of how much we relied on each other. To be honest, it’s kind of like we were dating even though we both agreed we were just friends. I feel guilty that he’s been so upset about it for so long. I feel like his pain is my fault. But I know I can’t blame myself for practicing self care. 

I also feel yucky when I look at any of the art I did of us. It used to be really fun until he got way hornier than me and borderline pressured/guilted me into doing stuff. I’d do it sometimes too because I felt like I was neglecting him. 

I still FEEL like I’m supposed to be there for him. I feel like I’m supposed to be a part of the TDS group. This used to be who I am and I thought something was wrong with me when it stopped being my thing. I know it’s not true but it’s how I’ve felt for so long. It’s hard to move on. 

[reclusiverisottonero]

Okay, what about hcs on dating Prosciutto and being best friends with Melone?

These are sfw, I hope that’s okay anon!! Melone will be a separate post because I don't like doing long specific hcs for multiple characters in one post. It just makes it too long.

The fill for being best friends with Melone can be found here!

Dating Prosciutto HCs, gn!Reader

There are no warnings unless things like smoking, alcohol, and light sexual overtones bother you. I get the feeling that's what most of you are here for though! 😉

💗 Prosciutto really, really enjoys PDA, he especially likes holding your hands or having an arm around your waist while out and about or vice versa. I think of him as someone who’s very touch starved without realizing it due to his upbringing, so he seeks it out with the people he’s close to. He is so used to initiating everything that if you touch him first he will absolutely melt. It’s not about possessiveness for him, but silent acknowledgement that neither of you are ashamed to be seen together.

💗 Though if you’re in La Squadra he expects you to have some amount of professionalism. As long as you don’t expect Sorbet & Gelato levels of affection while you’re working, there won’t be any issues. In private if you allow it he will be even more of a menace about physical affection. Lying his head on your shoulder or sprawling across your lap, drive-by kisses, the works. If he knows you’re okay with it he’ll give sneaky pinches to your ass too~

💗 Prosciutto is the type to sit you down after seriously dating for a while and ask straightforward, “What are we? Where do you see this relationship going?” Don’t be intimidated by this, it is his way of making sure you’re both on the same page in the relationship. He just likes to have some kind of outline of your expectations to calm his anxiety for his peace of mind. So if you want things to be casual you had better tell him at the start or it will be a harsh blow to his heart pride to discover he committed himself to you more than he should have. That clear line of communication also means he’s not the jealous type, unless you get especially touchy feely with someone else.

💗 If you head canon him as a smoker like 99.99% fandom just know he will put in the effort to be the politest smoker you’ve ever met. Only if you live together will he smoke indoors, usually keeping it to his study/den/office. If not and he spends the night at your place he’ll either smoke by an open window or the balcony. Will keep downwind of you so you don’t end up with a face full of smoke if you want to be around him while he’s smoking. However if you also smoke he’ll be happy to spot you a cigarette or two when you’re out. Do the same for him but don’t be surprised if he complains about how much he hates them (while still smoking it) because he’s super picky about his tastes!

💗 Imagine the two of you standing close together and lighting your cigarette with the tip of his while you each have your cigarettes in your mouth. Do that to Prosciutto and he will definitely get all flustered but he’ll try to play it cool. He needs to keep some semblance of dignity, but when you’re done smoking expect to have your face smothered in kisses.

💗 This man LOVES to take you out, but do not let him have control over dates all the time. It’ll be expensive restaurants, wine tastings, taking you to your favorite plays, shopping sprees, mini weekend vacations non stop if you don’t make him slow down. He’ll say you should always be treated to nice things and special occasions but will relent to you in the end. Be prepared for a bit of an uphill battle in convincing him he doesn’t need to buy your affections. All of this stems from spending his childhood watching his parent’s toxic relationship, which was: Spend every waking moment devoting everything to your s/o, and be grateful if they even so much as breathe in your direction. Be patient with him, he's working on his issues okay?

💗 Prosciutto is happy to go anywhere you want when you’re in charge of the date. You can treat him just as great as he does for you, but he stresses that it’s about the time spent together and not just the location (Gee Pros, hypocrite much? Again be patient with him). The best type to take him on are coffee dates! Spending time with you in a cozy little cafe, sharing a pastry with coffee in a booth away from everyone else? Perfect, stunning, flawless, wonderfully intimate, 10/10 he wants to do this with you everyday. Pay the bill in secret and he will be thinking about it for days.

💗 It’s impossible to feel bad about yourself when you’re with Prosciutto, aka The Ultimate Hype Man. He somehow always knows just what to say to bring you out of your darker moods or when you’re fretting about your appearance. Where you see flaws in yourself he sees someone whole and beautifully human. Meaning all of the things that make up you who you are, are the reasons he wants to be with you. There are no addendums to that statement. It’s not despite your (perceived) flaws, it’s simply just that: You are you, and in his eyes how can you possibly be anything other than wonderful?

💗 You’ll know you’ve truly come a long way in your relationship when at the end of a long day Prosciutto comes home, throws off all his clothes, lets his hair down and just flops down next to you and passes out. Such a state of vulnerability doesn’t come natural or easy for him and he is so particular about his appearance. And you’ll know he really has it bad for you if he lets you play with his hair. Sometimes date night is just the two of you snuggled together like this, with no need to care about appearances or worries, just warm and happy in each other's arms.

[spilledkauffie]

SFW (Fluff) Alphabet · Zemo

List made by @caitlinpotter || Sorry I’ve been so absent this week; I promise I have content for the weekend!

*xFemale!Reader || NSFW Alphabet ❤︎

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Quite affectionate— he loves giving you affection, and it’s all across the board with him. It can be from soft sweet touches to actual affectionate actions done for you.

Full HC list on this soon! ✧

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

Literally the best— for starters he’s super loyal, because if you’re truly friends with him he’s not giving up on you easily. Your friendship wasn’t exactly easy to get to, mostly thanks to his profession, but once you’re in, you’re in. 

100% defensive of you— anyone tries to come at you in any negative way, he’s got a comeback to absolutely destroy them. Also, having someone of his reputation around can be beneficial for when you want to be left alone, as he seems to intimidate people a little bit.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

When you cuddle him— he loves it when you just come over without saying a word and cuddle up next to him, he doesn’t ask questions he just lets you get as close and be as cute as you want. Sometimes he has to chuckle at just how physically needy you are, like absolutely burying your face against his back, nuzzling softly, with your arms around him in an attempt to get his attention / also loves waking up to you cuddled right up against him.

When he cuddles you— he can just tell when you need it, so often times he reaches out for your hands with a “come on, come here,” naturally, you give in, he pulls you into a hug, slightly rocking you back and forth. It’s a lot of soft touches and feathery kisses.

↳ if you’re lying on your stomach, he’ll lie down with you. Resting his head on the small of your back, brushing his fingers across or down your back, sometimes he places soft kisses against your skin, which always gets your attention. You either: 1). turn on to your side, he hooks and arm between you legs and uses your thigh as a pillow. 2). you lay on your back, letting him rest against your stomach, gradually he makes his way up to give the corner of your lips a kiss.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they around the house?)

For sure— it’s not long before you’re practically living with him. Now that you’re in his life, he wants you around for everyday life; what is his very soon becomes yours. You picked up on it when he started to suggest “why don’t you stay here... tonight? And maybe tomorrow?” more often.

Around the house— he’s quite casual. You never feel expected to get up at a certain hour (regardless that he gets up early), you’re never expected to be downstairs and dressed immediately, it’s more of a calm atmosphere that lets you wake up. You don’t constantly have to be around each other, he knows space is important. Sometimes it’s just doing your own things in the same room in silence together. Despite the status of Baron, he behaves like your average individual around the house, he likes to do things himself.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It’s actually really hard for him— it’d have to be in person though, as hard as it would be. For starters it would take a lot for him to actually call it over, he’s extremely patient and an expert at working things out with you, because he truly doesn’t want to it end.

↳ a most likely situation for ending it would be that he can’t guarantee your safety due to whatever he’s getting himself into, and he’d rather make the call to let you go than to have no choice in truly losing you because of his own dangerous choices. 

He’d leave it open though— sitting across from him, you stay quiet after both coming to the conclusion that it’s over. However, he leaves you with: “if you ever need anything, in any way. . .” you nod, a few tears falling as you stay silent, staring forward. Coming over to you, he softly wipes a tear away, kissing your temple, whispering, “I’m sorry,” before walking away.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He’s definitely committed in the relationship— ring or no ring, if you’re in a relationship with him he’s all in, not the type of person to just have a fling here and there. It’s total dedication to you, and you only. 

Considering he’s done it once before—there’s a lot of past memories surrounding the topic of marriage for him, which is why there’s probably going to be a good amount of time together before any proposal. He just wants to be sure, plus there needs to be time to talk everything out before rushing into anything. 

↳ when the time does come though, it’s a mad romantic, but personal proposal, with the most gorgeous ring in the world.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically— he’s super soft with you. He never wants to startle you, it’s always what you’re comfortable with. Touches are more than just flirtatious with him, they can be comforting, encouraging, supporting, etc. (He also knows what you’re not comfortable with as well so he can avoid it)

Emotionally— it’s a little more complicated. With your emotions he’s super gentle and understanding, always. He listens to anything and everything you say or just need to vent. He doesn’t interrupt and only gives his thoughts when you ask for them. He never intends to hurt you feeling either, he’s very careful. However, with his own emotions however, he’s a little harsher. He doesn’t really like to show any of the more complicated emotions. And doesn’t always give himself much grace for feeling certain ways, he tends to repress.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? What are their hugs like?)

Only from you— he doesn’t really like other people getting friendly, unless he really really knows them, even then it’s different. He doesn’t get physical with other people unless it’s a “move— you’re in my way,” situation, but that doesn’t count as friendly.

Extremely handsy— he love to bring his arms around you, so he can completely hold you whilst hugging you. Whether it’s around your waist, shoulders, hips, etc., just depends how the hug is done. He also tends to stroke his hands when hugging you, up and down your arms, back, sides, thighs, wherever.

↳ he likes to nuzzle against your neck, during front or back hugs, with the bridge of his nose, or his lips. He also gives tender kisses while he has you so close. Not kisses with other intentions, just sweet loving kisses that make you smile. Sometimes he brings his hand under your jaw, to tilt your head just enough so he can kiss your lips.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes time, but it’s not forever— when he knows he will tell you with no hesitation. He doesn’t debate telling you or worry about it being too bold, nope, he means it when he says it and he says it when he means it.

He also says it in different ways— it’s not always “those three words,” through his gestures and other phrases you hear I love you a lot.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Not if it’s someone you’ve known before him— he’s not intimidated by pervious friendships that predate your relationship. 

When people flirt with you knowing he’s with you— he gets real jealous, real fast. Given that fancy occasions are kind of a routine thing, you’re around a lot of other people who want to flirt with you, and often do pretty openly. It’s rare that Zemo ever leaves your side, which helps, but that doesn’t stop people from trying, which he hates. Typically he just tries to keep you physically near, so he can be there to prevent it.

↳ one time he left to get you a drink and an old rival of his found you. Trying to be polite you remained in conversation, feeling fine until he caressed your shoulder. Almost immediately Zemo was back at your side. Handing you your drink civilly, with a “here you are, Darling,” he then glared at the man standing across from you. Not so subtly, Zemo slipped his arm around you, literally pushing off the unwanted hand and replacing it with his own. You leaned into him more, attempting to make a point, as Zemo continued giving a half smile half glare.

He doesn’t do much about it in aftermath— he’ll calmly admit to you that he was jealous, but he also gets you with “I understand why people want to talk, flirt, and be with you,” he shrugs, “you’re beautiful, they’d have to be blind not to see that, but yes,” he tilts his head, “but. . . I have to admit, there’s part of me that wants that only to myself, of course.” It makes you smile how calm he tries to keep himself, despite the frustration. It’s usually you who actually does anything after these type of conversations though.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Lightly running fingers up your neck— when he’s kissing you, he traces his fingers slowly up the side of your neck, until he reaches your jaw, there he strokes his thumb across your jawline.

Holding your hand— sometimes when you’re flirting with him, you like to get as close as possible without touching, he knows the game and subtly slips his fingers between yours, then he goes in for the kiss. He can feel your smile and your hands hold his tighter as you give in.

Hand kisses— he gives these whenever, wherever, and however often he can. It’s a cute way of showing affection in a very classy way. He uses them as hello / goodbye greetings, although typically you require more than a kiss on the hand for saying goodbye.

Soft, but turns into more— it starts out as a super sweet gentle kiss, but slowly you can feel it deepen, to which you usually break the kiss with a smile, “Helmut,” you laugh, holding onto his arms around you, as he moves his mouth to your neck, “I don’t have time for this,” you try to stop giggling.

As for himself— he loves the taste of you lips, so every time you kiss him, he adores it. However, there is a sweet spot at the base of his neck, that when you kiss there makes him stop mid sentence.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Fantastic— he’s actually perfect with kids. Maybe it’s past experience that plays into it, but he’s so sweet with kids. When they accidentally run into him, he gives a “be careful, little one,” before stepping out of their way. Something you’ve noticed is that he talks to them like they’re little adults, which is adorable.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Staying in bed— one way or another one of you convinces the other to stay in bed. Sometimes it’s him asking you to stay just a little bit longer, when you can’t, he understands and watches you get dressed, asking what your day looks like. / Other times it’s you compelling him that it’d be more fun to stay and cuddle with you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Relaxing— it’s a calm, safe, and warm environment when you can both just relax from the day in each other’s arms. Sometimes you’ll lean back against him and ask what he’s reading, when he says Machiavelli, you smile and get cozy, “perfect, that sends me right off,” you close your eyes as he begins to read aloud.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s not an open book— there’s a lot of history with him, some good, but also some bad. Even before the whole campaign to end Super Soldiers, he has a bit of a shady past, with his own military exploits. Some he’s made amends with, others he hasn’t.

Depends how much you already know— if you already know a good amount about him, 1). he’ll ask to even the playing field, so he can know you equally as well 2). he doesn’t mind you asking questions since you’re already aware of his general history.

Surface level stuff— interests, fascinations, favourite this-or-thats, he’s pretty open about though! He doesn’t mind sharing or talking about any of the casual topics about himself, it’s just the more personal stuff that takes time.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He’s extremely patient— The only way you would know is by a facial expression. His looks give him away more than his words or attitude does.  

↳ if you’re not getting along, he’s the first to apologise, and it’s not an “I’m sorry” end of conversation apology. It’s a well thought out apology, because you don’t argue about the little stuff, it’d have to be something big to get you at odds for a while.

Silently frustrated— even if he gets mad, he keeps his cool in circumstances. Never raises his voice, his tone just gets a little deeper.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers everything— seriously, he does not forget anything. You’re his number one priority, so of course he pays attention. Even if there’s something you just mention at random, he’ll remember it. Say you mention how you used to have/like/want something, there’s a good chance it’s showing up again.

He also asks— he’s genuinely curious about you and wants to know as much as he can about the person he’s in love with. So, he loves childhood stories, random details, and little quirks about you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The moment you said those three words— when you know everything about him, his past, his lifestyle, and you still decided to say I love you. And you still standing by it even though it meant waiting for him.

He also loves remembering the first time he saw you— he says he could never forget it, it was like a divine beauty just walked in.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

Veryyy— he’s extremely protective of you, but not overbearing, he’s good a being distantly or subtly protective. In other words in public / at events / new places he keeps an eye on you, even if it’s from a distance.

He will literally do anything— there’s no limit with how far he’d go to protect you from anything or anyone, even if he knows he’s outmatched, he’ll find a way.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Dates— he puts a lot of effort into them, mainly trying to make it a perfect yet comfortable setting. So if you like quiet restaurants, that’s what he’ll find. If you like outdoors, he’ll find a stunning walkthrough garden, etc.

Celebrations— it’s always extravagant and grand and beautiful whenever you’re celebrating anything with him. He wants you to feel like the royalty he believes you are.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

How easy criminal life is for him lol— you love the fact that he surprised you with a real classic art piece for your birthday, but the exact details on how he got it isn’t as pretty. You frequently ask if there’s any other way he could make a living.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s not vain— despite the fancy and classy lifestyle, he’s never thought himself as an individual of great beauty. He likes beautiful things, which is why he says he was so attracted to you, but personally he doesn’t think much of himself.

He cares though— it’s not like he doesn’t care whatsoever, which is why he’ll usually ask you “what do you think of this?” in regards to fashion. He wants to look nice for you, and he knows how to do that. But he’s not the guy to check himself in the mirror, or constantly fret about his looks.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He doesn’t need a relationship— but that’s what makes your so special. Since he’s not the type to just constantly need someone to feel complete, the fact that he does need you make you and your relationship all the more important to him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He can crash literally anywhere— you’ve found him on the couch, on the floor, in a chair, and you have no idea why it’s a habit of his, but it is! And you have definitely addressed him about it before.

↳ walking in to his study, you found him asleep on the floor between the couch and coffee table, shaking your head and crouching down, you woke him up. Looking up to you, you asked, “Helmut, why are you sleeping on the floor?” / “Hmm- wh- I’m not on the floor, you’re on the floor,” he states sitting up, brining you into a hug with him.

[harfanfare]

How to win a heart of Floyd Leech?

a/n: Someone requested this; ask got deleted by accident! Hope you will like it, Anon!

Warning!

Once you start walking through the specific points of the guide, your life will be exposed to the presence of Floyd Leech. Interrupting the action at one of the stages may cause many problems; F. Leech categorizes stopping as "boring", which puts the user of this guide in great danger.

The only way out is to get to the very end. Or not to start at all.

You act at your own risk.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏‏‎ 

1.   Be an easy new target.

To one’s surprise, it is much harder not to catch his attention.

You can easily become another entertaining target of Floyd, mostly by doing silly things or him just considering them as ones.

And to automatically get labelled as “silly”, you just need to fall into one of his traps—he prepares them for someone else, maybe for goldfish, maybe for another person given a sea-inspired nickname, expecting to enjoy watching how familiar face twitches with terror as he jumps into the scene and tightly embraces passing student.

But no. You were the one who showed up in the wrong place and time as Floyd jumped out from his hideout, scaring you half to death. With a strangled yelp, you sharply backed away. After gaining a slight flush on your cheeks, you recognised who you just bumped into and quietly gasped.

However, he was much more bewildered than you were.

He had never encountered somebody who wouldn’t just freeze under his touch. Jumping away, gasping, muttering half-hearted apologies and flushing? That’s new.

That’s also entertaining.

Even after your quickly disappearance from the scene, his gaze somehow inexplicably started returning to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2.   Visit Mostro Lounge often.

“We’re looking for someone who would like to work part-time for Azul~” Floyd said, sliding poster across the table. He popped up in front of you unannounced, having your thoughts return to dark reality.

“Oh,” you replied quietly, packing your things faster. “Good luck with it.”

You got up from your seat, but the thought of letting you go just like that didn’t even cross Floyd’s mind.

“Ehh? Shrimpy, aren’t you going to try?” he asked, frowning. You winced a little at the nickname he called you, not sure how to feel about it. “You know, you won’t work there for free.”

Azul will grant your wish.

You fidgeted a little, questioning your response. You heard—who didn’t?—rumours that Octavinelle leader could fulfil any request for a certain price. Ones were working for it, others were paying, and lasts were trading their request with Azul’s one.

The thought of having anything just by working in some café made you consider the offer again—this time quickier.

“I will go,” you decided.

“Hooray!” Floyd smiled cheerfully, just as if he won some grand prize in the lottery. “But what could Shrimpy possibly wish for, to change your response so drastically~?” he wondered but didn’t get any answer in return.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3.   Be honest.

“Shrimpy...”

You passed Floyd, without sparing him a look. Anyone who has known you for a while would notice that your movements were a bit stiff and creaky.

Once you heard Floyd’s voice, a wave of tiredness struck you as if you didn’t get any sleep last night after working your shift in Mostro Lounge.

There were so many people to serve, so many things to do... and yet, you couldn’t help with anything, still not knowing how everything works, messing up with orders and breaking some plates in process.

Floyd buzzing around you, asking you some random questions (“Shrimpy, have you done it before?”). You answered them quickly, but each of them bumped you out of rhythm, making you forget what you were doing. It also didn’t help that Floyd certainly liked you being disoriented, replying with a shrug and grin on his face at your thundering glances.

So now, after gaining a little trauma from working in Octavinelle’s café, all you could do is ignore Floyd’s presence, silently accusing him of your infamous fiasco.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” he called you again, catching you up. “Are you mad?”

“I am not mad,” you snapped and took an unstable breath. “Look, I just started working, and on my first day I made already so many mistakes—”

“Yeah,” he replied indifferently. “And what with that?”

“...I couldn’t even correctly serve drinks—”

“Oh, stop!” Floyd muffled your mouth with his hand, an annoying look on his face. “I know where it is going. And no, you can’t quit a job, after all my efforts to get you there. It will get boring again!”

“But—”

“Stop, stop, stop,” he corrected his hand on your mouth, now not letting even a sound get through his fingers. “Azul knows that you tried your best. And for these plates you broke, he already added them to your paycheck. You need to practice! Not to give up, Shrimpy!”

You looked up at him, quite stunned by these words. Perhaps he quoted someone from the book or heard someone talking like that...

But it was encouraging. In some way, considering that you couldn’t protest, having your mouth covered. But still, it was encouraging.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4.   Take classes together.

You can have the power of controlling Floyd’s behaviour, making other students’ life easier. Or you two can be a walking disaster.

Turning alchemy lesson into putting random ingredients into a boiler and praying that the mysterious mixture won’t explode.

History classes started being a regular pinching ritual to keep yourself from falling asleep (you are being pinched more, even when you don’t feel sleepy).

In contrast, flying lessons are peaceful. Nor Jade, nor Floyd, nor Azul are fond of these classes. Floyd is much eager to stand both feet on the ground, watching you practice or having you sulking next to him about heights.

However, if you are a calm, shy, or tranquil person, exchanging little notes or drawings will be a little habit of yours. Handing them discreetly under the eye of sir Crewel is quite a challenge, but it also gives satisfaction once the note was given.

Floyd throws away most of your paper conversations, but the ones he really likes, he cherishes them by keeping them with him, stuffed in his pockets. He will be irritated if anyone would like to see what you two were writing about, even if the talk was about new strawberries delivery for the new recipe.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.   Being ticklish or not.

There are two possible scenarios, whether his new, lovely target is ticklish or not.

If is: prepare for being touched a lot. Observing how you quiver with surprise, when he lightly—he especially makes his touch less fierce, knowing very well that tickling isn’t violent—wraps his hands around your waist, making you hold your breath.

He would tickle you a lot, very often making you cry out of laugh and pain that follows sharp writhing and fidgeting, but never that much, to seriously upset you. That’s some luck in such unlucky situation.

If not: he will try to find other weak point. Or will try to make you ticklish—his hands are particularly cold and pressing them to your warm skin, might make you give him a reaction he would enjoy.

Albeit, if you also won’t return any expression even then, he will seriously search for some other weakness. Slightly biting an ear lobe, whispering next to your ear or anything that could make his smile appear, once he made you put him somewhere between “I despise you with each and every cell” and abstract mumbling with the heat on your checks.

Oh, he loves your reactions so much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6.   Learn all nicknames he gave other people (you will unlock an option to slightly dish other people).

“Oh Lord...” you muttered to yourself, as your gaze followed scribbled list of names that Jade just passed to you. He willingly connected all student’s names with pseudonyms Floyd gave other people and handed the roaster over to you once you helped him with some kitchen cleaning.

“There are so many, right?” Jade replied with a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you already memorised some of them, being around Floyd that much.”

You nodded mindlessly as you tried to get names into your head. You mouthed them soundlessly one by one, motivated to learn them by the end of the week.

The chuckle that escaped Jade’s lips startled you, and you realised that he still was in the room. Or that you didn’t leave the Lounge even after your shift has already ended.

“My brother surely didn’t exaggerate anything about you,” he said, his tone a bit more buoyant than ever, although you couldn’t be sure as the thick air of mystery still echoed in his voice. “I wonder how it will finally end?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7.   Always share your takoyaki with him.

“What are you hiding, Shrimpy?”

You shuddered at a voice that you did not want to hear at this moment, not for all the world. Unless that the world included a chest filled with takoyaki, which you could give to certain somebody.

You felt that instead of a shashlik of tasty balls, you were holding a knife in your hands, a veritable proof of a crime you had committed. It weighed heavily in your grip, and Floyd's approaching footsteps did not make your situation any better.

It was a time to hide the evidence.

You pushed as much as you could into your mouth and swallowed a few balls without even gnawing them much. You almost choked on them.

“Me? I?” you asked innocently. You sincerely hoped that no sauce or a stray piece of cake was left on your face. “What could I possibly hide?”

"Hmm, hmm~," he drew closer, and you needed all your will gathered, to make yourself stay where you were. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew you were all pale on the face. “With my little eye, I spy something...”

His gaze went down, just to your hands, which you tried to hide behind your back.

Not giving him a clear look at your palms or wooden stick, you turned around on the heel and run with all your might. Your muscles felt somehow stiff as if they also didn’t see a chance to win this race.

Now Floyd was sure you are hiding something, and there is no chance he’ll let it go.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8.   Watch him at his basketball practice.

81:30 for the blue team!

“Floyd once again started playing wild,” Ace breathed with clear regret in his voice. He glanced your way, frowning at you. “It’s your fault. Please come at practices when Floyd is in my team, not otherwise.”

You laughed awkwardly as he walked away.

A moment later, Floyd reached for a bottle with water and a towel you bravely guarded through the whole practice. He smiled wholeheartedly, happy with the win, water, and your presence.

“How did you like the game?” he asked once he changed from PE clothes and you two started heading towards Octavinelle.

“It was really fun!” you admitted, a speck of amusement appeared in Floyd’s eyes. “The red team didn’t have much time to capture a ball before you got hold of it again.”

“Hehe~ I’m glad you liked it,” he said. “I really like to play basketball, even more than ever, when I know that you are watching! That’s why,” he added, sincerity well-heard in his voice, “you need to come even more often!”

You nodded happily.

You just couldn’t mind it, all that accompanying him.

It was... fun.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9.   Dance, dance, dance!

Heels tapped on the floor and the sound of these steps would probably have spread through the room, if not for the jazz music pounding through Mostro Lounge’s speakers.

Floyd pulled you closer, letting a playful smile on his lips stretch even more. You couldn’t help but smile back, before gasping as he spun you around your axis. You lost balance and would fall if not steady grip around your waist, as Floyd leaned on closer to you, making you bend on one leg more and entirely rely on his touch.

Last notes of melody faded, and you still were in that pose, facing each other. With each second, Floyd’s face was changing from some form of amazement to amusement, finally letting you properly stand.

“Ha... When did you learn to dance so smoothly?” you asked smiling in wonder.

“Hehe~ With legs you can dance a lot more than in the sea,” he answered. “On land, it’s super fun~”

You nodded at his words.

Floyd was a wonderful dancer.

But you can’t be sure if being a good dancing partner is the only thing that made you feel all warm and fuzzy because butterflies still didn’t leave your stomach.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10.            “Let’s do something fun!”

“Here is your paycheck,” Azul handed you a white envelope, sealed with a stamp with the Octavinelle logo. “And you, [Name], was also working for some request, right?”

You nodded as you stared at the envelope.

Somehow, knowing how stupid the lingering thought in your mind was, you couldn’t bear to look up. If you would, your gaze would probably ignore all the elegant furniture of the room, even the owner of the room, Azul, just to settle on Floyd.

If you saw anything more than his shoes, that stupid thought would make their way outside, turning plans into action.

And Floyd unknowingly did everything to make them come true.

“Shrimpy,” he cupped your face with his hands, judging by his voice he seemed quite... worried? When he made you look in his olive and gold eyes, you started holding your breath. “Are you okay?”

With that question, your strong will to wish for something expensive or practical was broken.

You started fidgeting more, not knowing how to express your thoughts in words. “I think I have a request... a question for Floyd, rather than for you, Azul...”

Azul nodded at first uncertain and the room has fallen into silence once again until you spoke.

“Well, Floyd,” you turned to him, trying your best not to wander your gaze away from him, “Please, take your time with answering, but I want your response to be, uh, honest.”

You were tripping onto your own words, embarrassment soaring in your body as you started to think that you should’ve kept quiet. But Floyd was patient with your answer, as well as Jade and Azul who observed the situation as if they predicted it before.

“I mean- Okay, just answer the question.” You took an erratic breath. “Would you like to—”

“Sure!” Floyd interrupted you before even hearing the whole question. “I would like to do everything with you.”

You stood there, all confused. But, by Floyd’s expression you knew that he guessed what you wanted to say. Face heating up, you forgot about Azul and Jade, who hid a chuckle by turning his head to the side.

“How fun,” he said as Floyd wrapped his arms around you, as if shielding you from other people in the room.

“I won’t share Shrimpy with you, Jade. Not a chance.”

[cloudenthusiast2]

To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 1

Synopsis: You knew committing to a relationship Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Next: Part 2

Type: mostly angst, this part is still light tho

Warnings: none... yet

Length: not as long as it seems. I'll try to write the next chapters as soon as possible

Scaramouche turned his back to the mountains he's been staring at to look at the path leading to Qingce village. The sun shone through the fog above the rice fields, colouring everything in golden light. Trees sighed as the gentle morning breeze caressed them while glaze lilies slowly started to close their blossoms.

The view was absolutely mesmerising but it didn't absorb the exoticly dressed, short man even for a minute.

'Finally' he snorted unpatiently as you appeared out of the fog, walking towards him with a big smile. 'What took you so long?'

'Good morning' you answered in a calm, low-key but still visibly cheerful manner.

He mumbled some words to himself but you didn't even try to understand what he was saying. It was probably for the better anyway.

You were both happy you could finally see each other but Scaramouche would obviously never express such feelings, not even towards you. You didn't care so much about that though since the time you spent with trying to bare with him finally paid off. You could confidently say now that you actually knew him and his difficult personality well.

Yes, the constant need to search for clues that could tell you about his hidden emotions was a little tiering but you could usually put up with it.

You haven't been able to see him in a really long time as well. You were living in a small village in Liuye while Scaramouche was always travelling around Teyvat and could only visit you between two jobs. He wasn't the type to write letters so sometimes even months passed without you hearing anything about him.

He came back to you yesterday agter five weeks, to spend a little time in Qingce, the village you lived in and protected with your biggest gift, a Hydro vision.

'Where do you want to go?'

'Doesn't matter.'

'We could go to the forest! It's really pretty in the morning. And later we could pick some chili. I promised Pops Kai that I would bring some to him.'

He didn't react. You knew he didn't like you - his words - 'being a slave of those people' so he just ignored the fact someone requested something from you again.

'How did your last job go?' You asked as you two were slowly walking below the rice fields, watching the sun come up from behind the mountains.

'Could have been worse' he answered curtly. 'Inazuma is a pain in the neck. And there were some... unfortunate events I do not wish to discuss. But at least now I'm back.'

He looked up to the village and his piercing blue eyes narrowed as he took a glance of the neat but definitely archaic looking houses.

'Even this hick town is better than thet hell hole.'

Your facial expression strained for a moment as you heard him insulting the village which happened to be your favourite place all in Teyvat. You calmed your expressions but couldn't help and sting back a little.

'I thought you liked Inazuma' you retorted in a dry tone. 'It's where you're from after all.'

Scaramouche's face immediately darkened and you instantly realised the big mistake you made.

You knew a little about his origins, just enough to understand why he never told about it to you. Regret appeared in you for mentioning his past. At least Scaramouche didn't scold you for it but the air between you two visibly got heavier.

You continued your walk in silence and you couldn't stop cursing yourself for saying such insensitive things. It took two minutes for you to start bickering - this number made you feel sad and stupid.

But then again - he didn't even realise how hard he insulted your village and even if he did, he probably wouldn't regret it by one bit.

You lifted your chin and looked straight into the distance. You could see the various fatui agents scattered around the village, all standing guard for the sixth harbinger next to you.

You didn't like him being a part of the fatui at all but there wasn't much you could do about it. You only hoped and prayed that he one day would leave them after getting enough of the Tsaritsa and her overwhelming, suffocating power. After all, he only joined them because they 'seemed fun' and so far they were more of an annoyance then an genuine source of amusement for him.

'Unless he likes all the bloody tasks they're handing to him' you thought to yourself and then couldn't help but feel a little sick in the stomach.

You loved the man walking next to you but not every part of his personality. Not that part which screamed evil.

You weren't blinded by love. You knew he was indeed cruel sometimes. The part affecting you, his rudeness, his hatred towards any type of affection didn't concern you, it was actually kind of amusing. You loved to tease him about it and when he had an actual soft moment... it was heaven itself.

But you couldn't help but feel worried for others. What was he actually doing behind your back? Did he ever... kill someone? He seemed to be enjoying ending monsters a little too much. And he was quite open about his feelings towards humans. He hated all of them... you were probably the only exception.

'Say, Scara' you decided to broke the silence. He glanced at you, his face and movements still stiff. 'If there was a job suiting you in Liyue...'

'Stop tryna make me quit the fatui' he cut into your words in a harsh tone. 'It's not going to happen.'

'That's not what I was trying to do. I just... want to see you more often. Even after months I can only get a day or two with you... and we're not even alone.'

'If it's the Tsaritsa's order then I will follow it.' You averted your eyes. Barely a sentence in and you were already dejected by his words. 'Even though... I'd like to see you more too.'

You quickly rose your chin just to catch a glance of him rolling his eyes before he quickly turned his head away.

A wide smile lit up your face and you couldn't help but instantly start to gently tease him.

'Oh my, am I mistaken or is the almighty Balladeer actually admitting his oh-so-ridicoulus wishes to a mortal? Scara, are you okay? Yore getting soft, be careful before you get so weak even a slime could defeat you!'

'Just shut up, okay?' He growled at you but you just happily laughed. He's back. 'I'm gonna take my words back if you only show disrespect at...'

'Sure, sure' you smirked. 'Just admit you have a crush on me, Weeky-mouche!'

'Your nicknames are absolutely ridiculous' he claimed, ignoring the rest of the sentence.

'Oh, so what do you want me to call you then?' The temptation was too strong, you couldn't help but wink at him which made him growl in disgust again. 'Sweetheart, perhaps? Or honey?'

'I swear, you're as annoying as that damn red scum' he snorted, referring to his colleague, Childe.

You wanted to continue teasing him but as you turned right on the path you were walking on, a small shilouette - even smaller than Scaramouche's - appeared in front of you.

'Oh, little Yu!' You gasped, recognising the little 4-years-old girl.

Her dark hair was sparkling from the light of the morning sun and it put a tiny fire into her golden eyes as well. She looked like a magical little creature in the mystical forest, surrounded by old trees and young flowers.

A precious smile lit her face up as she saw you and the little girl reached out with both of her hands.

'Miss Y/n!'

You picked her up in an instant. Your favourite thing in guarding Qingce village was the people that lived in it and Yu always had a special place in your heart.

'Are you picking flowers?' You asked her and gently brushed her hair out of her face. 'For who?'

'Mommy' explained the little girl. 'It's her birthday tomorrow!'

'You're a very kind little lady, Yu' you praised her with a gentle smile. Holding a tiny, adorable creature like her was amongst the best feelings you've experienced, next to being with your lover, Scaramouche.

You didn't realise it was mainly because you were completely touch-starved.

Yu nodded but she didn't look at you. You followed her glance and you realised she was staring at Scaramouche.

The man was standing three feet away from you, with crossed arms and a hostile look on his face.

'Who is he?' Little Yu asked from you, fixing her eyes on the unfriendly expression of Scara's.

'His name is Scaramou... Just call him Scara.'

The man and the girl stared at each other.

'You needn't be afraid of him. He doesn't bite' you said jokingly but the little child's face remained serious.

'Why isn't he smiling?' She asked quietly. Scara glared at her.

'He's a little hard to make smile but he's still a good person' you promised her.

'Are you sure?'

Her words were innocent but they hit you really hard. Your breath stopped for a second and the fake smile on your face faded away.

'Now listen here you little...'

'I am sure. Don't worry' you cut down Scaramouche, sending a warning look to him.

He stayed silent but he looked like he could explode at any moment.

Maybe the child was able to sense it, maybe not, but she tried to get out of your hug all of a sudden. You put her down carefully, not forgetting to caress her hair and rosy cheeks even though her words upset both of you.

'I'm gonna go pick more flowers.'

'Yes. Be careful in the forest.' You warned her. 'Call my name if you're in danger!'

She nodded and ran away on her bare feet, looking like a little fairy among the old trees.

Leaving you alone with Scaramouche.

[yuujism]

a curse like you (ryōmen sukuna x reader)

REQUEST:  Hello! I really love ur sukuna fics and i was wondering if i can request a yuuji/sukuna x fem reader where mc is a curse that sukuna knew from many years ago?? Can be fluff, smut or angst. Up to you 😁 thank you so much!! 🤗

| PAIRINGS:  ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

| WARNINGS: little suggestive but nothing bad, grammar errors

| WORD COUNT: 1,653

A/N: i focused this more on sukuna idk  if that’s ok with you !! if not you can send me a message or reqeust and tell me what did you expect so i can change it if i can😭!! anyway i like yearning and ex lovers to lovers prompts so uhh yea 😳 might even write this better with yuuji being more involved and more things happening lmfaosh !! i hope you enjoy!!  ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

Sukuna was bored out of his mind.

These situations were becoming more recurrent now that the brat that called himself his vessel started becoming stronger and getting the hang of the use of cursed energy.

He could hear everything that happened during the fight: the swearing, the sound of flesh splitting open, blood splashing and some motivational speech every now and then.

This was all a routine for the King of Curses now.

When he felt the light in his flesh for the first time in thousands of years, he swore he would never feel something like that again. It wasn’t anything that deemed itself meaningful, but after centuries of not having contact with anything at all, that moment felt like pure ectasis. He didn’t really count with having to spend most of the time inside of a brat after that.

It was all boring now. Boring, boring, boring. 

“Sorcerers come pretty green now, don’t they?” 

Oh? 

He lifted his head way too quickly, almost giving himself whiplash even if it was impossible. 

That voice. Sukuna knew that voice well. Very well if he said so himself. 

This was the voice that would call him a King in a mocking tone, as if it was calling him the King of idiots instead of the King of Curses. The same voice that refused to let out the sound of his name, too proud and stuck up but whenever they were alone, feeling each other, it would slip out every now and then. A voice that would let out the sweetest pleads and moans whenever he would let his hands travel around that body. And it became the last thing he heard before he was cut into pieces and retained by sorcerers for decades, sinking into the darkness. 

And now, the owner of the voice, who he thought was dead, was standing there, in front of his vessel, with the biggest smirk on her face.

Y/N. The proclaimed queen of curses.

And Sukuna’s... ex.

Sukuna felt Itadori freeze in place, looking directly at you with fear filling his body. The curse couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Even after thousands of years, your power was way too intimidating and immaculate Sorcerers of the old age would even avoid saying Y/N’s name in fear of summoning her, knowing damn well she wouldn’t hesitate to kill them for making bad use of her title. 

They could feel it. They knew you weren’t just a cursed spirit. You could talk and appeared out of nowhere without even making your presence known. You were probably at the same level as Sukuna. Or Sukuna was at the same level as you.

He really thought you were killed after he was captured, only remembering your revengeful words towards the sorcerers who killed your lover. After that, and for obvious reasons, he never heard of you. Not even in this new era where sorcerers spawned one after the other, never mentioning your name or any hint that lead to your survival. So to see you in front of him, safe and sound and impactful as ever, Sukuna felt relief.

Y/N’s eyes landed on Yuji’s restless ones, as if she was staring at his soul. Which, basically, she did. Her gaze passed all the way through his barrier and soul, finally reaching what she was looking for: Sukuna’s own soul and eyes.

“Damn, King, is that you?” in a blink of an eye, you were right before Itadori’s face, too quick for him to even react and even too scared. “Shit, you’re pretty fucked now, huh? All trapped inside a bag of human flesh.”

Before the girl with the hammer could strike your body after snapping out of her trance, you limited yourself to press a finger in the sorcerer’s forehead, smiling almost sweetly before sending her body flying back with extreme force against the furthest wall of the space, knocking her out. 

“K-Kugisa- Hngh!” Itadori’s words were interrupted by a hand wrapping around his neck, slightly lifting him from the ground as he struggled to move, too weak from the constant fighting with all the cursed spirits that came in a flood. 

“Now, now,” Your voice was too calm, almost tired, getting closer to Yuuji’s face “Why don’t you switch with the oh-so-mighty King of curses? Too scared to come out, huh, King?” 

Your tone ticked Sukuna in more than one way. You were still the same annoying bitch as before. 

If you wanna live you better switch with me, you damn brat.

“Like hell I would switch with you! You’re gonna kill us!”

“Oh, so you can talk with him within yourself?” You let out an amused snort, your grip getting tighter. “Ridiculous!”

Foolish human, she will kill you. Switch with me.

Even if his vessel dying didn’t mean anything to Sukuna, he knew he would never get the chance to meet you again, probably for another thousand years, and these sorcerers were too invested in vanishing him from the face of the earth. 

When Yuuji was about pass out, eyes half closing and his windpipe being pressed roughly, you noticed the way his skin started developing black marks in his face and along his body. You smiled widely when the small scars under the sorcerer’s eyes opened to reveal a red colour looking straight at you, the whole features of this guy in front of you changing to reveal what you were looking forward too.

Sukuna’s hand wrapped around your wrist, claws digging into your flesh as you both stared at each other with a mix of emotions: hatred, anger, amusement. And something more.

“Move.”

You dropped him, backing up a bit as he fixed the hoodie his vessel was wearing, glaring at the queen of curses. You didn’t change at all. If Sukuna had to be honest, you were as hot tempered and attractive as before. He could perfectly remember the way your body reacted whenever he touched the spots that drove you crazy A sly smirk appeared on his face as he noticed the same movement of fingers when you were restless, and he knew it was because of him.

“Nervous, Y/N?” Sukuna chuckled, walking to you to circle around your frame, looking up and down your body. “You know I don’t bite, baby. Unless you ask me to, that is.”

You turned around to look at him behind you, incredulous.

“Hah?” Your head fell back, letting out a louder than usual laugh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, King. I’m just worried I’ll easily step on you while you’re in this vessel of yours.” Your hand started glowing with your cursed energy, raising an eyebrow at the way his indifferent expression didn’t flinch. “And even more now since you get dominated so easily.”

Once again, something in Sukuna ticked. If there was something he hated more than being looked down upon, it’d be the fact of not being in control of any situation. He never once admitted it, but your comments really got to him. He wanted to be praised and adored by you, queen who would never adore anyone but herself. This just made him even more infatuated by you. Perhaps even after all this time, he could make you say his name in a broken voice.

“You see, you shouldn’t be talking to me like that.” Your smile went away when a hand reached one of your cheeks, caressing it with such care you almost gagged. However, you couldn’t help the way your heart started beating faster. “Or do you think I don’t remember the way I made you submit to me?”

This time, it was you who twitched with anger. Sukuna’s hand grabbed your chin, his eyes falling on those delicious lips that committed the most sinful of acts and spat out the dirtiest of words. He was getting excited already, the fire within him starting to awaken after a long time.

When his face started getting closer to yours, you spat on him, the liquid landing on his cheek and laughing at his dumbfounded reaction after such action.

“A half-assed curse like you shouldn’t be talking to ME like that.” You snarled back, your arm swinging to attack the man in front of you. You almost chanted victory when your fist perfectly landed on the side of his face, making his head to turn to the side.

But when Sukuna turned to look back at you still with your fist against him, you gulped. There was no reaction, no injury that showed he was at least a little faced by the sudden attack.

This was it.

“Well, fuck.” You almost laughed again, expecting the worst to come when his eyes flashed with something dark, grabbing you by both sides of your head. All that time surviving for nothing. Keeping yourself hidden from every single sorcerer that walked the earth and now you were going to get killed by your ex-lover.

But instead of receiving the coup de grâce, Sukuna’s lips smashed against yours in a hungry manner, groaning against your mouth as your hands flew to scratch his arms in surprise, eyes open wide before the movement of his lips and strong hand in the back of your neck made you close them, not being able to fight back your own desires.

Sukuna missed this. Honestly, he missed any kind of physical touch but the fact it was with you again, made him realise it would always be you.

He was as calm as the silence surrounding you now, only the sounds of your heavy breathing filling your flushed ears. You were burning up, face red and glassy eyes. Sukuna smiled before slightly pulling your hair, head slightly falling back and taking advantage of this to place the softest of kisses in your neck. You let out a rather pathetic moan and he deeply chuckled.

“And a curse like you should know who is in charge here.”

[after-witch]

A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You have to be prepared and poised and perfect. But it’s hard to be all those things, even with the looming threat of your husband sitting next to you, when you’ve got a secret hidden underneath your clothes...

Word Count: 1875

Notes: yandere, forced marriage, abuse, bondage, NSFW 

Poised.

You must be poised. Every movement, every gesture, must embody a quiet grace. Your face must be pleasant, without seeming garishly joyous. Your voice must be soft, melodic, clear; yet loud enough to be heard without being required to repeat yourself. 

You must know how to keep a conversation going smoothly, like water in a stream, yet understand when to keep silent. You must know all of these things and so much more, and act on them at all times in the proper degree; all in order to avoid embarrass yourself and more importantly, embarrassing your husband.

In other words, you must be perfect.

And you try--you have to try, because what other choice does Scaramouche leave you?--but it’s difficult. You were never born for this stifled life he’s pushed you into, for a life spent mostly within the walls of his home or at most, behind the high, impenetrable walls of the courtyard.

A life draped in rich clothing, overseeing fine details of the estate that make your head spin. How many bags of this or that must be ordered per week? When should the bedding in that room be washed? What is the appropriate amount of money to put in a servant’s purse when sending them to the market? Questions you never imagined yourself asking yourself, which now fill your day with a gilded tedium.

There’s a deceptive leisure lurking underneath everything here. True, you no longer have to travel far and wide, selling your family’s wares from heavy baskets carried on your back; you no longer have to search the edges of the forest for edible plants to toss into boiling broth on days when you could not afford meat. You never want for food (unless he takes your dinner away as punishment) and any comfort you could need is within reach, so long as you’re behaving.

But you are on edge, always. Preparing yourself for another pitfall that might open up beneath your feet, and always looking for ways to improve yourself. Or at least ways to avoid earning your husband’s sharp disapproval. Regardless of your efforts, you have been on the wrong end of a harsh insult, a slap, a pinch, a cane, more times than you care to count.

Be prepared, be poised, be perfect. It’s the mantra you repeat to yourself every morning.

The mantra you repeated to yourself this particular morning, in preparation for a meeting he insisted you attend. A meeting which apparently required your finely-tuned skills in pleasing conversation and your much-practiced ability to “pour a passable cup of tea.”

Anyone else might assume it was meant to be an insult, but your time with Scaramouche has led to you to understand that the slightest praise towards you, while minuscule to others, was something you were meant to fall on your knees and thank him for. Sometimes literally, depending on his mood.

Why he wanted you to pour tea for some delegates from Fontaine, and what their increasing presence in the area really meant, you didn’t know. But it wasn’t your place to ask him, and the memory of recent stinging pain on your backside keeps you from feeling even remotely tempted to broach the subject.

So here you are. Dressed elegantly, but not garishly, as is proper for his wife. With a tea pot in your hand and perfectly arranged cups and the ghost of a pleasing smile on your face. Charming words drip from your lips, pleasantries, pleasantries, pleasantries--the type of words Scaramouche loathes yet drums into you all the same.

Prepared, poised, perfect.

Except for the slight tremble of your hands.

Except for the uncomfortable hitch in your breath as you speak.

Except for the fact that there are ropes tied snugly around your breasts, wrapping around your chest and criss-crossing between your breasts with an uncomfortable pressure, all hidden underneath the outfit he’d chosen for you that afternoon.

You’d balked, first--then begged. Begged not to be humiliated like this. What if someone sees? What will people say? You’d even tried to appeal to his pride, suggesting that if you couldn’t fully concentrate on your duties, well, how would that reflect on him?

All that earned you was a glint of a smirk and a tug as he knotted the rope encircling your breasts, making it even tighter than before. His final threat at your continued pleading--”I can always make you go out in nothing but the ropes”--finally shut you up.

And so, here you are. Face hot with shame and something more, silently pleading that your clothing won’t somehow shift and reveal the secret underneath. Despite the layers covering you, you still feel naked, exposed. As if the people indulging in polite conversation can see right through you, see the way your breasts are framed by the itchy ropes. See the way your body is responding to such a total humiliation. 

It’s not just the chafing rope that bothers you. It’s the pressure itself. It feels… no, you don’t want to think about how it feels.

Instead, you hone your focus in on the task at hand. Pouring the tea, a nice subtle blend made with Violetgrass flowers. A previous round of guests from Fontaine had enjoyed it so well that Scaramouche had you tell the teashop to start stocking up for future visits.

You wish you could hide the way your hand trembles ever so slightly as you pour the last cup of tea for a woman whose name you regrettably can’t remember. You normally repeat their names over and over in your head, lest you forget and endure Scaramouche’s sharp tongue (if not his cane) later on; but your predicament made it impossible to keep track of new information.

You might be able to enjoy the tea, enjoy the facsimile of polite conversation weaving its way around the table, if only you weren’t so distracted by the tightness, the chafing, the undeniable fact that--oh Archons above, that all of this was making your nipples humiliatingly hard underneath your clothing.

“Do you agree, wife?”

All eyes glance at you. Whatever Scaramouche just said had clearly be addressed to you, only you were too distracted to notice.

In the moments that you’re left half-gaping, mentally groping to somehow pull his previous words out from the ether, his hand snakes around your waist. You feel his fingers on the outside of the soft fabric, searching until they find their intended target--the knot--and tugging hard to tighten it further.

You gasp, your body lurching upward and forward at the sudden sensation of your breasts being squeezed, and the tea pot you’re still holding drops to the table. Time seems to slow to a thick crawl, and you can see the pot is not cracked, but tipped over, hot tea spilling onto the table underneath with abandon.

The sight of the dark brown stain spreading, trickling underneath saucers and cups, leaves you helpless until you force your shaking hands to grab the pot and set it back up on the table.

“I, I--” you start to stutter something. An apology? An explanation? But the constricting ropes and the dawning realization that you have just committed an extensive social faux pas--in front of guests, no less--leaves you helplessly unable to speak.

The guests, for their part, look suitably uncomfortable. The woman whose name you can’t remember is holding onto her cup, saving it from being intercepted by the trickling tea. You don’t know whether their looks are because of your embarrassing display or because they know your husband’s reputation, and feel pity for you. Perhaps a bit of both.

Scaramouche’s voice cuts through the tension, though it does nothing to lessen it.

“I apologize for my wife’s clumsiness,” he says. “I should have realized that she wasn’t up to the apparently complex task of serving tea.” His voice is dripping with condescension, making more heat rise to your cheeks.

Humiliation does not begin to describe what you feel as he gently--public appearances, you think--takes your arm and stands, bringing you with him.

“Perhaps you are ill.” He looks you up and down, faux-concern written all over his face. But you know what he’s really thinking about, as his eyes linger on your chest for a fraction longer than they should.

You swallow hard, and do your best to nod. It doesn’t take any effort to look ashamed at what’s transpired.

“I--I have been feeling unwell,” you say, making sure to project loud enough for the audience he’s curated for you. “I may be too tired.”

He shakes his head, as if he can’t believe your silliness. A silly, silly wife--that’s what you are. Never mind that it’s all his fault. Never mind that he chose to do this to you, and chose to do it in front of guests. 

A small, bitter part of you resents the guests for being there at all, resents the fact that they probably know you’re an unwilling ornament to the Harbringer’s obsession but do nothing about it.

But what good does resenting them do, when it won’t change your fate?

He takes your hand and gives it a pat, each touch patronizing to the core.

“Apologize to our guests and go rest. And send someone more capable to clean up your mess.”

You have to apologize for the fact that you spilled tea due to his decision to engage in some perverse bondage in a public fashion. You have to apologize for the fact that he deliberately made you do it, too, knowing how you might react when he pulled the rope.

It’s horrible and humiliating and unfair. 

But you do it anyway.

Turning towards the guests, gaze downcast with shame, you force out an apology; keeping your voice soft and melodic and clear, as expected.

Then you retreat as calmly as possible, feeling everyone’s gaze--but especially his--on your back as you leave. You catch the eye of the nearest servant as you make your way back to the bedroom, laying out the quickest version of events and not relishing the look of anxiety that crosses their features at the thought of dealing with Scaramouche after such an apparent social travesty.

But you only have enough energy to consider your own anxieties, so you continue on without thinking more about them.

Walking only seems to make the feeling of constriction worse, and you bite down on your lip as your sensitive nipples begin rubbing against the fabric with every step. It feels good, it feels bad--whatever it is, it’s all too much, and you want nothing more to cut off the ropes and hide until the morning.

Not that you have the courage to risk such an endeavor.

You don’t feel any calmer by the time you reach your shared bedroom, but at least your humiliation is a private one, now. And you can rest, at least until he’s finished for the evening. For a moment, you simply stand still, bringing your arm across your chest and pressing to provide some pressure, some relief, to your sensitive breasts. 

There’s an undeniable twist in your stomach when your arms brush against your nipples, and you hate it, and you love it, and you feel just as sick and perverse as he is when you slide a hand inside your clothing and give one aching nipple a pinch. You rub your legs together and ah, there it is--the pleasurable tingling and beginnings of wetness, and well, why not give yourself some pleasure, you think; why not give yourself something good and pleasant before he comes in and ruins everything with whatever sick punishment he’s concocting? 

It’s not until you make to curl up on the large bed, eager to relive the tension building inside you, that you see the scroll wrapped up on the pillow. With a sense of justifiable dread building in your stomach, you sit, and unfurl it. 

The words are written in Scaramouche’s familiar handwriting:

“Take off your clothes. Lay down and spread your legs on the bed until I return. Don’t touch yourself. I will know if you haven’t followed my instructions.”

Bastard, you think. As if your humiliation today wasn’t strong enough. Your hands go to undue the fastenings keeping your clothes together, and the first hints of bare skin leave you with anticipatory goosebumps. How long would you be expected to be on the bed, presenting yourself for his apparent pleasure? 

Bastard, bastard, bastard.

But--well. At least he didn’t tell you to bend over the caning stool again.

[chocolate-teapots]

Wasted Love: Alec Newbury

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

You helped Alec a little too much with his 

                 broken marriage.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Warnings: smut, broken marriage, cheating, swearing, angst.

Alec had a very complex relationship with the concept of cheating.

As an extreme non-commital, I always knew his relationship with the lovely Leslie would go downhill but I didn't think it would happen that fast. I thought they would've at least gotten married first.

You see, Alec told me on many occasions that if he got married, he would no longer fuck all of these women because he had something worth holding onto, something to control him. All of the gang, including me, knew that was true. Still, the guilt in his eyes when he'd tell me about the receptionist he screwed from work would win me over just that little bit. I hated the fact I believed in him.

Not him, but in him.

I knew so much since Alec couldn't trust the other guys really. I had never been a girl figure in the group, just someone who was there for everyone, someone to organise things, the smart one, the wise one, the one who didn't say much but didn't really have to. It was also the fact that the others were so self-destructive.

Billy was a handsome, fun guy who would always make your own problem his problem as a part of his caring nature. The problem in that problem was that he had many of them himself, that he was ignoring on purpose. You were his excuse.

Jules had a lot to deal with and she kept this stuffed behind her charming façade. If you had a problem, she would be fine with it but not if it wasn't life-threatening since her cynical and joking advice would prove less effective in the long run. She's unfortunately dramatic and reckless so she can be unreliable.

Kirby was cute and probably the least offensive of the bunch but he thinks to make a tense situation okay again you just have to crack a few jokes unless it was a scenario about the woman he was in love with. Dale.

Wendy was too innocent to understand both sides of the argument. To understand a situation such as Alec's you had to understand the true heart of desire you know but she couldn't. She was a virgin.

Kevin was the most likely candidate being smart, an asshole but too hung up on his own self-pity and also the meaning of life. He was always trying to philosophise every moment and wasn't truly present unless it was all fun and games. Plus, I knew he was in love with Leslie and the reason they broke up was that they fucked.

Or was that just the result?

Leslie was sweet and smart-mouthed but she was the fucking problem.

"She just keeps asking for her records back all the time! She keeps waddling over in her heels and sexy skirt and asking me for her things. I mean, I'm trying to get over her here but all I can do is think of excuses to see her!"

And that's exactly why I had to take the blows.

"So I think of an excuse to see her but what do I see? One of my greatest friends since school in between her fucking legs which might I add was further than I ever got!"

I watch him pace in a fluster across my apartment. His shirt was unbuttoned and he was tugging at it and throwing away pieces of his suit on the ground. He kept running his hands through his dark hair covering some rosy cheeks. I gulped.

"Look man all you need to do is chill for now. Give it time. Talk to both of them and ask, is it more? If it is you might have to be the bigger man and step away. This isn't your final year of life and plus love isn't the most important thing."

He huffs, slowing down his pace and standing over me finally. "You're right, you're right."

He admits defeat, understanding my words and calming down. The sofa I'm casually sitting on sinks as he joins me by my side, head on my shoulder and tickling my neck. I allow our heads to touch with my lips pouting in a little pity.

"I know it's my fault."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

He shoots up as if I sent an electric current through my body to his. He glares at me, brown eyes dissecting my face. He loves to preach how much of an adult he is to everyone and when his adulthood is challenged, he gets angry.

"What would you know? You've never loved anyone. You wouldn't know what it's like to see your best friend with someone you trusted!"

I sigh, shaking my head at his hurt. I knew that feeling well...

"Alec my love, you need to realise that you fucking all these other women, faceless they may be, still counts as cheating and what you and Leslie had counted as marriage. Some people go their whole lives without marriage but it's enough, it's never just dating. It's always more. You took advantage of this ideal of marriage. Deep down you knew you were never gonna stop. But, you can't even admit that because you saw how happy she was under him!"

He grabs my arms, pulling me to my feet so he can intimidate me with his flaring nostrils and crazy eyes. My heart races.

"How dare you think about me that way! You don't know anything other than what I've told you. You don't have the right to judge my life because you don't really care about us."

"You're right."

His eyes narrow, Alec is confused.

"I don't care about the gang, I care about you."

Before I knew it I was being lured just like those girls at work, just like those stupid girls who are stupid enough to believe sex equals love. It doesn't.

All I did was kiss him and he throws me on my couch harshly, mounting me and stripping us both.

I kiss him feverishly and he returns each of them just like I had dreamt. His bare body presses into my own and suddenly he enters me in one movement. Not only do I feel physically fuller but the one thing I had been missing as I was growing up, something they couldn't teach you in school had been filled by my best friend. I was pulling a Leslie right now and so was he.

And, like a drunken blur that was the last thing I could remember before I woke up the next morning. After the first round, he carried me to my bed which is where we stayed for the rest of that long night.

I wake up in my bed but I can feel something is different like when you buy a new lamp for your room or you wear new pyjamas. This time I was completely naked apart from the fragrant shirt covering my decency. I had never been so grateful for shirts in my life.

Alec is next to me, assessing his own damage and we both shoot up, not looking at each other in the eye. I run towards my side of the room, gathering the trail of clothes leading to the starting point and wearing them despite the sweat. He does the same. I don't look at him but I can see him glancing at me.

Like he hadn't seen me fully naked I carefully removed his shirt and throw it back to him.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck..."

We chant in unison, a mutual pair of fuck-ups.

I'm standing in my jeans and my bra when I just really breathe in the realism of the situation and laugh at myself and scoff at him.

"I can't believe I fell for that Alec serial fuck thing," my hands were on my hips, challenging him in disbelief.

I honestly couldn't believe it. I never thought it would happen and I didn't think I would go through with it. i was a terrible friend to both parties.

"Woah, this wasn't my fault. You pulled my hair! You know what that does to me and you know it!" he begins to yell in his underwear and unbuttoned shirt, pointing at me with a veiny finger.

I march towards him, poking his stupidly perfect chest with my veiny finger.

"My fault? You practically pounced on me!" I was so enraged and disappointed at this point but it was mostly at myself, as much as I hated to admit it.

"Pounced on you. Original. This wouldn't have happened if you didn't give me those fuck me eyes," he towers over me, a tall shadow turning my whole world black and looking into those eyes that killed him that night.

"These are my normal eyes, Alec, I can't have a fucking eye transplant with a virgin."

His head dips lower, practically overlooking my scalp he's so tall.

"Oh please, you were eating me up because you love me."

I bite my lip, feeling the tears start to flow at how little he cares about me to just throw that sentence in my face without a thought, a touch or even a tear.

"Maybe I do alright?" I cry, looking down and moving away once he goes to answer me and reaches out.

"Did- do. I don't know..."

I put on my button-up shirt, making sure to do the top one up since I felt so dirty and vulgar at that moment. I had never imagined doing anything like that in real life, that was a dream sequence. People don't just fuck their broken best friends.

"I'm not gonna run away with you for a fuckfest or anything after you and Leslie just broke up. This cannot go any further and I'm glad you finally got your head out of Leslie's ass to acknowledge me."

"I'm sorry," he stutters, the fear of me walking out that door for good haunting his mind despite it being my apartment.

I knew in that group I didn't really matter. They wouldn't care if I went. Just a little chuckle that would come up every now and then like a dead teacher but that was all.

"Don't be sorry. I've given you all the advice you need but know this, she doesn't want you anymore. She's gone Alec and who was the first person to pick you up after you fell- me. Stop waiting for her Alec because she's gone and will never look back for you."

"Harsh," he swallows a couple of tears but some were too strong and stained his light blue shirt piercingly.

I grab my car keys and throw on some shoes and a jacket. stopping abruptly when he cries.

"If that's how you really feel then consider my feelings dead but my 10-year ache for you will never die."

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!�� he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.